IP  I"  1" 

JLJLL 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 

of 

Wendell  S.  Miller 


brutalized  features  of  Walter  Burton 
were  revealed." 

Frontispiece 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 

THE  STRANGE  STORY  OF 

A    SON    OF    HAM 


BY 

BENJ.  RUSH  DAVENPORT 

AUTHOR  OF 

Blue  and  Gray,  Uncle  Sam's  Cabins, 
Anglo-Saxons,  Onward,  Etc. 


Illustrations 

by 
J.  H.  Donahey 


CLEVELAND 

Caxton  Book  Co. 

1  902 


Copyright 

by 

Benj.  Rush  Davenport 
1902 


All  rights  reserved 


DEDICATION 

To  all  Americans  who  deem  purity 
of  race  an  all-important  element  in 
the  progress  of  our  beloved  country. 

THE  AUTHOR 


785667 


For  obvious  reasons  the  date 
of  this  story  is  not  given . . . 


JUst  of  Illustrations 


"— *"c   brutalized  features  of  Walter  Burton 
were  revealed. 

Frontispiece 


UCY  passed  her  soft,  white  arm  around 
her  grandfather's  neck." 

Page  108 


"feE  recklessly  rushed  in  front  of  Burton." 

Page  286 


,  I  have  always  loved  you." 

Page  349 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 

I. 

BOSTON  was  shrouded  in  a  mantle  of 
mist  that  November  day,  the  north-east 
wind  bringing  at  each  blast  re-enforce 
ment  to  the  all-enveloping  and  obscuring  mass 
of  gloom  that  embraced  the  city  in  its  arms  of 
darkness. 

Glimmering  like  toy  candles  in  the  distance, 
electric  lights,  making  halos  of  the  fog,  marked 
a  pathway  for  the  hurrying  crowds  that  poured 
along  the  narrow,  crooked  streets  of  New  En 
gland's  grand  old  city.  In  one  of  the  oldest, 
narrowest  and  most  crooked  thoroughfares 
down  near  the  wharfs  a  light  burning  within  the 
window  of  an  old-fashioned  building  brought  to 
sight  the  name  "J-  Dunlap"  and  the  word's  "Ship 
ping  and  Banking." 

No  living  man  in  Boston  nor  the  father  of  any 
man  in  Boston  had  ever  known  a  day  when  pass- 

I 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ing  that  old  house  the  sign  had  not  been  there 
for  him  to  gaze  upon  and  lead  him  to  wonder  if 
the  Dunlap  line  would  last  unbroken  forever. 

In  early  days  of  the  Republic  some  Dunlap 
had  in  a  small  way  traded  with  the  West  Indian 
islands,  especially  Haiti,  and  later  some  descen 
dant  of  this  old  trade  pathfinder  had  established 
a  regular  line  of  sailing  ships  between  Boston 
and  those  islands.  Then  it  was  that  the  sign 
"J.  Dunlap,  Shipping  and  Banking"  made  its 
appearance  on  the  front  of  the  old  house.  A 
maxim  of  the  Dunlap  family  had  been  that  there 
must  always  be  a  J.  Dunlap,  hence  sons  were 
ever  christened  John,  James,  Josiah  and  such 
names  only  as  furnished  the  everlasting  J  as  the 
initial. 

"J-  Dunlap"  had  grown  financially  and  com 
mercially  in  proportion  to  the  growth  of  the  Re 
public.  There  was  not  room  on  a  single  line  in 
the  Commercial  Agency  books  to  put  A's  enough 
to  express  the  credit  and  financial  resources  of 
"J.  Dunlap"  on  this  dark  November  day.  Abso 
lutely  beyond  the  shoals  and  shallows  of  the 
dangerous  shore  of  trade  where  small  crafts 

2 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


financially  are  forced  to  ply,  "J.  Dunlap"  sailed 
ever  tranquil  and  serene,  neither  jars  nor  shocks 
disturbing  the  calm  serenity  of  the  voyage. 

This  dismal  November  day  marked  an  unpar 
alleled  experience  in  the  career  of  the  present  "J. 
Dunlap."  The  customary  calm  was  disturbed.  J. 
Dunlap  disagreed  and  disagreed  positively  with 
J.  Dunlap  concerning  an  important  event,  and 
that  event  was  a  family  affair. 

The  exterior  of  "J-  Dunlap"  may  be  dark, 
grimy,  dingy  and  old,  but  within  all  is  bright 
with  electric  light.  Behind  glass  and  wire  screens 
long  lines  of  clerks  and  accountants  bend  over 
desks  and  busy  pens  move  across  the  pages  of 
huge  ledgers  and  account  books — messengers 
hurry  in  and  out  of  two  glass  partitioned  offices. 
On  the  door  of  one  is  painted  "Mr.  Burton,  Man 
ager  ;"  on  the  other  "Mr.  Chapman,  Superintend 
ent." 

Separated  by  a  narrow  passageway  from  the 
main  office  is  a  large  room,  high  ceiling,  old- 
fashioned,  furnished  with  leather  and  mahogany 
fittings  of  ancient  make,  on  the  door  of  which 
are  the  words,  "J.  Dunlap,  Private  Office."  This 

3 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


is  the  sanctum  sanctorum  in  this  temple  of  trade. 
Within  "J.  Dunlap's"  private  office  before  a  large 
grate  heaped  high  with  blazing  cannel  coal  two 
old  men  are  seated  in  earnest  conversation.  They 
are  "J.  Dunlap." 

Seventy-two  years  before  this  November  day 
that  enfolded  Boston  with  London-like  fog  there 
were  born  to  one  J.  Dunlap  and  his  wife  twin 
boys  to  whom  were  given  in  due  season  the 
names  of  James  and  John.  These  boys  had  grown 
to  manhood  preserving  the  same  likeness  to  each 
other  that  they  had  possessed  as  infants  in  the 
cradle.  James  married  early  and  when  his  son 
was  born  and  was  promptly  made  a  J.  Dunlap, 
his  twin  brother  vowed  that  there  being  a  J. 
Dunlap  to  secure  the  perpetuation  of  the  name, 
he  should  never  marry. 

When  the  J.  Dunlap,  father  of  the  twin  broth 
ers,  died,  the  twins  succeeded  to  the  business  as 
well  as  the  other  property  of  their  father,  share 
and  share  alike.  To  change  the  name  on  the 
office  window  to  Dunlap  Bros,  was  never  even 
dreamed  of;  such  sacrilege  would  surely  have 
caused  the  rising  in  wrath  of  the  long  line  of 

4 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ghostly  "J.  Dunlaps"  that  had  preceded  the  twins. 
Hence  on  this  dark  day  "J.  Dunlap"  was  two  in 
stead  of  one. 

Handsome  men  were  all  the  Dunlaps  time  out 
of  mind,  but  no  ancestor  was  ever  more  hand 
some  than  the  two  clean  cut,  stalwart,  white 
haired  old  men  who  with  eager  gestures  and 
earnest  voices  discussed  the  point  of  difference 
between  them  today. 

"My  dear  brother,"  said  the  one  whose  face 
bore  traces  of  a  more  burning  sun  than  warms 
the  Berkshire  hills, '  'You  know  that  we  have  never 
differed  even  in  trivial  matters,  and  James,  it  is 
awful  to  think  of  anything  that  could  even  be 
called  a  disagreement,  but  I  loved  your  poor  boy 
John  as  much  as  I  have  ever  loved  you  and  when 
he  died  his  motherless  little  girl  became  more  to 
me  than  even  you,  James,  and  it  hurts  my  heart 
to  think  of  my  darling  Lucy  being  within  pos 
sible  reach  of  sorrow  and  shame."  The  fairer 
one  of  the  brothers  bent  over  and  grasping  with 
both  hands  the  raised  hand  of  him  who  had 
spoken  said  with  an  emotion  that  filled  his  eyes 
with  moisture: 

5 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"God  bless  you,  John!  You  dear  old  fellow! 
I  know  that  that  loving  heart  of  yours  held  my 
poor  boy  as  near  to  it  as  did  my  own,  and  that 
Lucy  has  ever  been  the  dearest  jewel  of  your 
great  soul,  but  your  love  and  tenderness  are  now 
conjuring  up  imaginary  dangers  that  are  simply 
beyond  a  possibility  of  existence.  While  I  will 
not  go  so  far  as  to  admit  that  had  I  known  that 
there  was  a  trace  of  negro  blood  in  Burton  I 
should  have  forbidden  his  paying  court  to  my 
granddaughter,  still  I  will  confess  that  I  should 
have  considered  that  fact  and  consulted  with  you 
before  consenting  to  his  seeking  Lucy's  hand. 
However,  it  is  too  late  now,  John.  He  has  won 
our  girl's  heart  and  knowing  her  as  you  do  you 
must  appreciate  the  consequences  of  the  disclo 
sure  of  this  discovery  and  the  abrupt  termina 
tion  of  her  blissful  anticipations.  It  is  not  only 
a  question  of  the  health  and  happiness  of  our 
dear  girl,  but  her  very  life  would  be  placed  in 
jeopardy." 

This  seemed  an  unexpected  or  unrealized 
phase  of  the  situation  to  the  first  speaker,  for  he 
made  no  reply  at  once  but  sat  with  troubled 

6 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


brow  gazing  into  the  fire  for  several  minutes, 
then  with  a  sigh  so  deep  that  it  was  almost  a 
groan,  exclaimed : 

"Oh!  that  I  had  known  sooner!  I  am  an  old 
fool!  I  might  have  suspected  this  and  investi 
gated  Burton's  family.  John  Dunlap,  d n 

you  for  the  old  idiot  that  you  are,"  and  rising  he 
began  pacing  the  floor;  his  brother  watched 
him  with  eyes  of  tender,  almost  womanly  affec 
tion  until  a  suspicious  moisture  dimmed  the 
sight  of  his  worried  second  self.  Going  to  him 
and  taking  him  by  the  arm  he  joined  him  in  his 
walk  back  and  forth  through  the  room,  saying: 

"John,  don't  worry  yourself  so  much  old  chap, 
there  is  nothing  to  fear;  what  if  there  be  a  slight 
strain  of  negro  blood  in  Burton?  It  will  disap 
pear  in  his  descendants  and  even  did  Lucy  know 
all  that  you  have  learned,  she  loves  him  and 
would  marry  him  anyhow.  You  know  her  heart 
and  her  high  sense  of  justice.  She  would  not 
blame  him  and  really  it  is  no  fault  of  his." 

"You  say,"  broke  in  his  brother,  "that  the  negro 
blood  will  disappear  in  Burton's  descendants? 
That  is  just  what  may  not  happen!  Both  in  the 

7 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


United  States  and  Haiti  I  have  seen  cases  of 
breeding  back  to  the  type  of  a  remote  ancestor 
where  negro  blood,  no  matter  how  little,  ran  in 
the  veins  of  the  immediate  ancestor.  In  the  ani 
mal  kingdom  see  the  remoteness  of  the  five  toed 
horse,  yet  even  now  sometimes  a  horse  is  born 
with  five  toes.  Man  is  but  an  animal  of  the  high 
est  grade." 

"Well,  even  granting  what  you  say  about  the 
remote  possibility  of  breeding  back,  you  know 
that  our  ancestors  years  ago  stood  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  Garrison,  Beecher  and  those  grand 
heroes  who  maintained  that  the  enslavement  of 
the  negro  was  a  crime,  and  that  the  color  of  the 
skin  made  no  difference — -that  all  men  were 
brothers  and  equal." 

"Yes,  I  know  and  agree  with  our  forefathers 
in  all  of  that,"  exclaimed  the  sun  burned  J.  Dun- 
lap  with  some  show  of  impatience.  "But  while 
slavery  was  all  wrong  and  equality  before  the 
law  is  absolutely  right,  still  I  have  seen  both  in 
this  country  and  in  the  West  Indies  such  strange 
evidence  of  the  inherent  barbarism  in  the  negro 
race  that  I  am  almost  ready  to  paraphrase  a 

8 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


saying  of  Napoleon  and  declare,  'Scratch  one 
with  negro  blood  in  him  and  you  find  a  bar 
barian.'  " 

"Your  long  residence  in  disorderly  Haiti, 
where  your  health  and  our  interest  kept  you  has 
evidently  prejudiced  you,"  replied  the  fair  J. 
Dunlap.  "Remember  that  for  generations  our 
family  has  extended  the  hospitality  of  our  homes 
to  those  of  negro  blood  provided  they  were  edu 
cated,  cultured  people." 

"Yes,  James,  Yes !  Provided  they  had  the  cul 
ture  and  education  created  by  the  white  man,  and 
to  be  frank  between  ourselves,  James,  there  has 
been  much  affectation  about  the  obliteration  of 
race  distinction  even  in  the  case  of  our  own  fam 
ily,  and  you  know  it!  We  Dunlaps  have  made 
much  of  our  apparent  liberality  and  consistency, 
but  in  our  hearts  we  are  as  much  race-proud 
Aryans  as  those  ancestors  who  drove  the  race- 
inferior  Turanians  out  of  Europe." 

James  Dunlap  was  as  honest  as  his  more  im 
petuous  brother.  Suddenly  stopping  and  con 
fronting  him  with  agitated  countenance,  he  said : 
"You  are  right,  John,  in  what  you  say  about 

9 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


our  affecting  social  equality  with  those  of  negro 
blood.  God  knows  had  I  been  aware  of  the  facts 
that  you  have  hastened  from  Port  au  Prince  to 
lay  before  me  all  might  have  been  different ;  our 
accursed  affectation  may  have  misled  Burton, 
who  is  an  honorable  gentleman,  no  matter  if  his 
mother  was  an  quadroon.  Social  equality  may 
be  all  right,  but  where  it  leads  to  the  intermar 
riage  of  the  races  all  the  Aryan  in  me  protests 
against  it,  but  it  is  too  late  and  we  must  trust  to 
Divine  Providence  to  correct  the  consequences 
of  the  Dunlap's  accursed  affectation." 

"I  expected  Lucy  to  marry  Jack  Dunlap,  the 
son  of  our  cousin ;  then  the  old  sign  might  have 
answered  for  another  hundred  years.  Lucy  and 
Jack  were  fond  of  each  other  always,  and  I 
thought  when  two  years  ago  I  left  Boston  for 
Haiti  that  the  match  was  quite  a  settled  affair. 
Why  did  you  not  foster  a  marriage  that  would 
have  been  so  satisfactory  from  every  standpoint?" 
"I  did  hope  that  Lucy  would  marry  your 
namesake,  dear  brother;  don't  blame  me;  while 
I  believe  that  the  boy  was  really  fond  of  my 
granddaughter,  still,  being  poor,  and  having  the 
10 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Dunlap  pride  he  positively  declined  the  position 
in  our  office  that  I  offered  him.  I  wished  to  keep 
him  near  Lucy  and  to  prepare  him  to  succeed  us 
as  'J-  Dunlap/  When  I  made  the  offer  he  said  in 
that  frank,  manly,  sailor  man  fashion  of  his  that 
he  was  worthless  in  an  office  and  he  wished  no 
sinecure  by  reason  of  being  our  kinsman ;  that  he 
was  a  sailor  by  nature  and  loved  the  sea;  that  he 
wished  to  make  his  own  way  in  the  world;  that 
if  we  could  fairly  advance  him  in  his  profession 
he  would  thank  us,  but  that  was  all  that  he  could 
accept  at  our  hands." 

"See  that  now !"  exclaimed  the  listener.  "Blood 
will  tell.  The  blood  of  some  old  Yankee  sailor 
man  named  Dunlap  spoke  when  our  young  kins 
man  made  that  reply.  Breed  back!  Yes  indeed 
we  do." 

"No  persuasion  could  move  the  boy  from  the 
position  he  had  taken  and  as  he  held  a  master's 
certificate  and  had  proven  a  careful  mate  I  gave 
him  command  of  our  ship  'Lucy'  in  the  China 
trade.  I  imagine  there  was  some  exhibition  of 
feeling  at  the  parting  of  Lucy  and  John,  as  my 
girl  seemed  much  depressed  in  spirits  after  he 
left. 

II 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"You  recall  how  Walter  Burton  came  to  us  fif 
teen  years  ago  with  a  letter  from  his  father,  our 
correspondent  in  Port  au  Prince,  saying  that  he 
wished  his  son  to  enter  Harvard  and  asking  us  to 
befriend  him.  The  lad  was  handsome  and  clever 
and  we  never  dreamed  of  his  being  other  than  of 
pure  blood.  He  was  graduated  at  the  head  of  his 
class,  brilliant,  amiable,  fascinating.  Our  house 
was  made  bright  by  his  frequent  visits. 

"When  his  father  died,  leaving  his  great  wealth 
to  Walter,  he  begged  to  invest  it  with  us,  and  lik 
ing  the  lad  we  were  glad  to  have  him  with  us. 
Beginning  at  the  bottom,  by  sheer  force  of  ability 
and  industry,  within  ten  years  he  has  become  our 
manager.  I  am  sure  John  Dunlap,  your  name 
sake,  never  told  Lucy  that  he  loved  her  before  he 
sailed  for  China.  The  pride  of  the  man  would 
hold  back  such  a  declaration  to  our  heiress.  So 
with  Jack  away,  his  love,  if  it  exist,  for  Lucy 
untold,  it  is  not  strange  that  Burton,  and  he  is  a 
most  charming  man,  in  constant  attendance  upon 
my  granddaughter  should  have  won  her  heart. 
He  is  handsome,  educated,  cultured  and  wealthy. 
I  could  imagine  no  cause  for  an  objection,  so 

12 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


when  he  asked  for  Lucy's  hand  I  assented.  The 
arrangements  are  completed  and  they  will  be  mar 
ried  next  month.  Lucy  wished  you  to  witness  the 
ceremony  and  wrote  you  and  you  hasten  from 
Haiti  home  with  this  unpleasant  discovery.  Now, 
John,  think  of  Lucy  and  tell  me,  brother,  what 
your  heart  says  is  our  duty." 

James  Dunlap,  exhausted  by  the  vehement 
earnestness  that  he  had  put  into  this  long  speech, 
recounting  the  events  and  circumstances  that  had 
led  up  to  the  approaching  marriage  of  his  grand 
daughter,  dropped  into  one  of  the  large  armchairs 
near  the  fire,  waiting  for  a  reply,  while  his  brother 
continued  his  nervous  tramp  across  the  room. 

Silence  was  finally  disturbed  by  a  light  knock 
on  the  door  and  a  messenger  entered,  saying  that 
Captain  Dunlap  begged  permission  to  speak  with 
the  firm  a  few  moments.  When  the  name  was  an 
nounced  the  two  brothers  exchanged  glances  that 
seemed  to  say,  "The  man  I  was  thin/king  of." 

"Show  him  in,  of  course,"  cried  John  Dunlap, 
eagerly  stopping  in  his  monotonous  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room. 

The  door  opened  again  and  there  entered  the 

13 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


room  a  man  of  about  twenty-seven  years  of  age, 
rather  below  the  medium  height  of  Americans, 
but  of  such  breadth  of  shoulders  and  depth  of 
chest  as  to  give  evidence  of  unusual  physical 
strength.  A  sailor,  every  inch  a  sailor,  anyone 
could  tell,  from  the  top  of  his  curly  blonde  hair 
to  the  sole  of  his  square  toed  boots.  His  sun 
burnt  face,  while  not  handsome,  according  to  the 
ideals  of  artists,  was  frank,  manly,  bold — a  brave, 
square  jawed  Anglo-Saxon  face,  with  eyes  of  that 
steely  gray  that  can  become  as  tender  as  a 
mother's  and  as  fierce  as  a  tiger's. 

"Come  in,  Jack,"  cried  both  of  the  old  gentle 
men  together. 

"Glad  to  see  you  my  boy,"  added  John  Dunlap. 
"How  did  you  find  your  good  mother  and  the 
rest  of  our  friends  in  Bedford  ?  I  only  landed  to 
day;  came  from  Port  au  Prince  to  see  the  Com 
mons  once  more;  heard  that  the  'Lucy'  and  her 
brave  master,  my  namesake,  had  arrived  a  week 
ahead  of  me,  safe  and  sound,  from  East  Indian 
waters." 

So  saying  he  grasped  both  of  the  sailor's  hands 
and  shook  them  with  the  genuine  cordiality  of  a 
lad  of  sixteen. 

14 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Have  you  seen  my  granddaughter  since  your 
return,  Captain  Jack  ?"  inquired  James  Dunlap,  as 
he  shook  the  young  man's  hand. 

"I  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  call  when  she  was 
out  shopping,  and  as  Mrs.  Church,  the  house 
keeper,  told  me  that  she  was  so  busy  preparing 
for  the  approaching  wedding  that  she  was  en 
gaged  all  the  time,  I  have  hesitated  to  call  again," 
replied  the  sailor,  as  with  a  somewhat  deeper 
shade  of  red  in  his  sun  burned  face  he  seated  him 
self  between  the  twins. 

"Lucy  will  not  thank  Mrs.  Church  for  that 
speech  if  it  is  to  deprive  her  of  the  pleasure  of 
welcoming  her  old  playmate  and  cousin  back  to 
Boston  and  home.  You  must  come  and  dine 
with  us  tomorrow,"  said  Lucy's  grandfather. 

"I  am  much  obliged  for  your  kind  invitation, 
sir,  but  if  you  will  only  grant  the  request  I  am 
about  to  make  of  the  firm,  my  next  visit  to  my 
cousin  will  be  to  say  goodby,  as  well  as  to  re 
ceive  a  welcome  home  from  a  voyage." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  lad !"  exclaimed  both 
of  the  brothers  simultaneously. 

Concealment  or  deception  was  probably   the 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


most  difficult  of  all  things  for  this  frank  man 
with  'the  free  spirit  of  the  sea  fresh  in  his  soul,  so 
that  while  he  answered  the  color  surged  up 
stronger  and  stronger  in  his  face  until  the  white 
brow,  saved  from  the  sun  by  his  hat,  was  as  red 
as  his  close  shaven  cheeks. 

"Well,  sir,  this  is  what  I  mean.  I  learned  yes 
terday  that  the  storm  we  encountered  crossing 
the  Atlantic  coming  home  had  strained  my  ship 
so  badly  that  it  will  be  two  months  before  she  is 
out  of  the  shipwright's  hands." 

"What  of  that,  Jack,"  broke  in  the  darker  J. 
Dunlap.  "Take  a  rest  at  home.  I  know  your 
mother  will  be  delighted,  and  speaking  from  a 
financial  standpoint,  as  you  know,  it  makes  not 
the  least  difference." 

"I  was  going  to  add,  sir,  ,that  this  morning  I 
learned  that  Captain  Chadwick  of  your  ship 
'Adams/  now  loaded  and  ready  to  sail  for  Aus 
tralia,  was  down  with  pneumonia  and  could  not 
take  the  ship  out,  and  that  there  was  some  diffi 
culty  in  securing  a  master  that  filled  the  require 
ments  of  your  house.  I  therefore  applied  to  Mr. 
Burton  for  the  command  of  the  'Adams,'  but  he 

16 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


absolutely  refused  to  consider  the  application 
saying  that  as  I  had  been  away  for  almost  two 
years,  that  it  would  be  positively  brutal  to  even 
permit  me  to  go  to  sea  again  so  soon,  and  that 
the  'Adams'  might  stay  loaded  and  tied  to  the 
dock  ten  years  rather  than  I  should  leave  home 
so  speedily." 

"Burton  is  exactly  right,  I  endorse  every  word 
he  has  said.  You  can't  have  the  'Adams' !"  said 
James  Dunlap  with  emphasis.  "What  would 
Martha  Dunlap,  your  mother,  and  our  dear 
cousin's  widow,  think  if  we  robbed  her  of  her  only 
son  so  soon  after  his  return  from  a  long  absence 
from  home?" 

"My  mother  knows,  sir,  that  my  stay  at  home 
will  be  very  brief.  She  expects  me  to  ask  to  go 
to  sea  again  almost  immediately.  I  told  her  all 
about  it  when  I  first  met  her  upon  my  return," 
and  as  he  spoke  the  shipmaster's  gaze  was  never 
raised  from  the  nautical  cap  that  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"Well!  You  are  not  going  to  sea  again  im 
mediately,  that  is  all  about  it.  You  have  handled 
the  'Lucy'  for  two  years,  away  from  home,  using 

17 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


your  own  judgment,  in  a  manner  that,  even  were 
you  not  our  kinsman,  would  entitle  you  to  a  long 
rest  at  the  expense  of  our  house  as  grateful  ship 
owners,"  said  Lucy's  grandfather. 

The  young  man  giving  no  heed  to  the  compli 
ment  contained  in  the  remarks  made  by  James 
JDunlap,  but  looking  up  and  straight  into  the  eyes 
of  the  brother  just  arrived  from  Haiti,  said  so 
earnestly  that  there  could  be  no  question  of  his 
purpose : 

"I  wish  to  get  to  sea  as  soon  as  possible.  If  I 
cannot  sail  in  the  'Adams,'  much  as  I  dislike  to 
leave  you,  sirs,  I  must  seek  other  employ." 

"The  devil  you  will !"  exclaimed  his  godfather 
angrily. 

"Why,  if  you  sail  now  you  will  miss  your 
cousin's  wedding  and  disappoint  her,"  added 
James  Dunlap. 

"Again,  gentlemen,  I  say  that  I  shall  get  to 
sea  within  a  few  days.  I  either  go  in  the  'Adams' 
or  seek  other  employ,"  and  all  the  time  he  was 
speaking  not  once  did  the  sailor  remove  his 
steady  gaze  from  the  eyes  of  him  for  whom  he 
Vvas  named. 

18 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


To  say  that  the  Dunlap  brothers  were  aston 
ished  is  putting  it  too  mildly;  they  were  amazed. 
The  master  of  a  Dunlap  ship  was  an  object  of 
envy  to  every  shipmaster  out  of  Boston — the  pay 
and  employ  was  the  best  in  America — that  a  kins 
man  and  master  should  even  propose  to  leave 
their  employ  was  monstrous.  In  amazement  both 
of  the  old  gentlemen  looked  at  the  young  man  in 
silence. 

Suddenly  as  old  John  Dunlap  looked  into 
young  John  Dunlap's  honest  eyes  he  read  some 
thing  there,  for  first  leaning  forward  in  his  chair 
and  gazing  more  intently  into  the  gray  eyes  of  the 
sailor,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  grasping  the  arm 
of  his  young  kinsman  he  fairly  hauled  him  to  the 
window  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  then  facing 
him  around  so  that  he  could  get  a  good  look  at  his 
face,  he  almost  whispered: 

"Jack,  when  did  you  learn  first  that  Lucy  was 
to  be  married?" 

"When  I  came  ashore  at  Boston  one  week 
ago." 

The  answer  came  so  quickly  that  the  question 
must  have  been  read  in  the  eyes  of  the  older  man 
before  uttered. 

19 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"I  thought  so,"  said  the  old  man  softly  and 
sadly,  as  he  walked,  still  holding  the  sailor  by 
the  arm,  back  to  the  fire,  and  added  as  he  neared 
his  brother : 

"James,  Jack  wants  the  'Adams'  and  is  in  earn 
est.  I  can't  have  him  leave  our  employ ;  therefore 
he  must  go  as  master  of  that  ship." 

"But,  brother,  think  of  it,"  exclaimed  James 
Dunlap. 

"There  is  no  but  about  it,  James,  I  wish  him 
to  sail  in  our  ship,  the  'Adams/  as  master.  I  un 
derstand  his  desire  and  endorse  his  wish  to  get 
to  sea." 

"Oh!  Of  course  if  you  really  are  in  earnest 
just  instruct  Burton  in  the  premises,  but  Jack 
must  dine  with  us  tomorrow  and  see  Lucy  or 
she  will  never  forgive  him  or  me." 

"Don't  you  see  that  the  lad  has  always  loved 
Lucy,  is  heartbroken  over  her  marriage  and  wants 
to  get  away  before  the  wedding?"  cried  John 
Dunlap,  as  he  turned  after  closing  the  door  upon 
Captain  Jack's  departing  figure. 

"What  a  blind  old  fool  I  am  not  to  have  seen 
or  thought  of  that !"  exclaimed  his  brother. 

20 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"How  I  wish  in  my  soul  it  was  our  cousin 
that  my  girl  was  going  to  marry  instead  of  Bur 
ton,  but  it  is  too  late,  too  late." 

Sadly  the  darker  Dunlap  brother  echoed  the 
words  of  Lucy's  grandfather,  as  he  sank  into  a 
chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands : 

Too  late !    Too  late !    Too  late ! 


II. 

YOU  don't  mean  that  Mr.  Dunlap  has  con 
sented  to  your  going  out  to  Australia  in 
charge  of  the  'Adams,'  do  you,  Captain 
Jack?" 

The  man  who  asked  the  question,  as  he  rose 
from  the  desk  at  which  he  was  sitting,  was  quite 
half  a  head  taller  than  the  sea  captain  whom  he 
addressed.  His  figure  was  elegant  and  graceful, 
though  slim;  his  face  possessed  that  rare  beauty 
seen  only  on  the  canvas  of  old  Italian  masters, 
clearly  cut  features,  warm  olive  complexion  in 
which  'the  color  of  the  cheeks  shows  in  subdued 
mellow  shadings,  soft,  velvet-like  brown  eyes,  a 
mouth  of  almost  feminine  character  and  propor 
tion  filled  with  teeth  as  regular  and  white  as 
grains  of  rice. 

Save  only  that  the  white  surrounding  the 
brown  of  his  beautiful  eyes  might  have  been 
clearer,  that  his  shapely  hands  might  have  been 

22 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


more  perfect,  had  a  bluish  tinge  not  marred  the 
color  of  his  finger  nails,  and  his  small  feet  might 
have  been  improved  by  more  height  of  instep, 
Walter  Burton  was  an  ideal  picture  of  a  graceful, 
handsome,  cultivated  gentleman. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Burton,  I  am  to  sail  as  master  of 
the  'Adams.'  How  soon  can  I  get  a  clearance 
and  put  to  sea  ?" 

"It  is  an  absolute  outrage  to  permit  you  to  go 
to  sea  again  so  soon.  Why,  Captain,  you  have 
had  hardly  time  to  get  your  shore  legs.  You  have 
not  seen  many  of  your  old  friends ;  Miss  Dunlap 
told  me  last  evening  that  she  had  not  even  seen 
you." 

Burton's  voice  was  as  soft,  sweet  and  melo 
dious  as  the  tones  of  a  silver  flute,  and  the 
thought  of  the  young  sailor's  brief  stay  at  home 
seemed  to  strike  a  chord  of  sadness  that  gave 
added  charm  to  the  words  he  uttered. 

"I  expect  to  dine  with  my  cousin  tomorrow  eve 
ning  and  will  then  give  her  greeting  upon  my 
home  coming  and  at  the  same  time  bid  her  good- 
by  upon  my  departure." 

"I  declare,  Jack,  this  is  awfully  sad  to  me,  old 

23 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


chap,  and  I  know  Lucy  will  be  sorely  disappoint 
ed.  You  know  that  we  are  to  be  married  next 
month  and  Lucy  has  said  a  dozen  times  that  she 
wished  you  to  be  present;  that  you  had  always 
been  a  tower  of  strength  to  her  and  that  nothing 
could  alarm  or  make  her  nervous  if,  as  she  put  it, 
'brave  and  trustworthy  Jack  be  near.'  " 

The  sailor's  face  lost  some  of  its  color  in  spite 
of  the  tan  that  sun  and  sea  had  given  it,  as  he 
listened  to  words  that  he  had  heard  Lucy  say 
when,  as  a  boy  and  girl,  they  had  climbed  New 
Hampshire's  hills,  or  sailed  along  Massachusetts' 
coast  together. 

"I  shall  be  sorry  if  Lucy  be  disappointed,  but 
I  am  so  much  of  a  sea-swab  now  that  I  am  rest 
less  and  unhappy  while  ashore." 

What  a  poor  liar  young  John  Dunlap  was.  His 
manner,  or  something,  not  his  words,  in  that  in 
stant  revealed  his  secret  to  Burton,  as  a  flash  of 
lightning  in  the  darkness  discloses  a  scene,  so  was 
Jack's  story  and  reason  for  hurried  departure 
from  Boston  made  plain. 

By  some  yet  unexplained  process  of  mental 
telegraphy  the  two  young  men  understood  each 

24 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


other.  Spontaneously  they  extended  their  hands 
and  in  their  warm  clasp  a  bond  of  silent  sympathy 
was  established.  Thus  they  stood  for  a  moment, 
then  Burton  said  in  that  sad,  sweet  voice  of  his : 

"Jack,  dear  old  chap,  I  will  get  your  clearance 
papers  tomorrow  and  you  may  put  to  sea  when 
you  please,  but  see  Lucy  before  you  sail." 

Ere  Dunlap  could  reply  the  door  of  the  man 
ager's  office  opened  and  there  entered  the  room 
a  man  of  such  peculiar  appearance  as  to  attract 
'the  attention  of  the  most  casual  observer.  He 
was  thin,  even  to  emaciation.  The  skin  over  his 
almost  hairless  head  seemed  drawn  as  tightly  as 
the  covering  of  a  drum.  The  ghastliness  of  his 
dead-white  face  was  made  more  apparent  by  the 
small  gleaming  black  eyes  set  deep  and  close  to 
a  huge  aquiline  nose,  and  the  scarlet,  almost 
bloody  stripe  that  marked  the  narrow  line  of  his 
lips. 

"Beg  pardon,"  said  the  man,  seeing  someone 
with  Burton,  and  then,  recognizing  who  the  visi 
tor  was,  added : 

"Oh,  how  are  you,  Jack  ?  I  did  not  know  that 
you  were  with  the  manager,"  and  he  seemed  to 

25 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


put  the  faintest  bit  of  emphasis  upon  the  word 
"manager." 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Chapman?"  said  Burton 
somewhat  impatiently. 

"I  only  wished  to  inform  you  that  I  have  se 
cured  a  mas'ter  for  the  'Adams.'  Captain  Mason, 
who  was  formerly  in  our  employ,  has  applied  for 
the  position  and  as  he  was  satisfactory  when  with 
us  before  I  considered  it  very  fortunate  for  us  to 
secure  his  services  just  now." 

"The  'Adams'  has  a  master  already  assigned 
to  her,"  interrupted  the  manager. 

"Why !  When  ?  Who  ?"  inquired  the  superin 
tendent  eagerly. 

""The  'Adams'  sails  in  command  of  Captain 
Dunlap  here." 

The  gleaming  black  eyes  of  Chapman  seemed 
to  bury  their  glances  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
manager  as  he  stretched  his  thin  neck  forward 

and  asked: 

"Did  you  give  him  the  ship?" 

"J.  Dunlap  made  the  assignment  of  Captain 
Jack  to  the  ship  today  at  his  own  request  and 
contrary  to  my  wishes,"  said  Burton  abruptly, 
somewhat  annoyed  at  Chapman's  manner. 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


It  was  now  the  turn  of  Jack  to  stand  the  bat 
tery  of  those  hawk  eyes  of  the  superintendent, 
who  sought  to  read  the  honest  sailor's  soul  as  he 
shot  his  glances  into  Jack's  clear  gray  eyes. 

"Ah !  Cousin  Jack  going  away  so  soon  and  our 
Miss  Lucy's  wedding  next  month.  How 
strange !"  Chapman  seemed  speaking  to  himself. 
"If  that  is  all,  Chapman,  just  say  to  Mason 
that  the  firm  appointed  a  master  to  the  'Adams' 
without  your  knowledge ;  therefore  he  can't  have 
the  ship,"  said  Burton  with  annoyance  in  his  tone 
and  manner,  dismissing  the  superintendent  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  toward  the  door. 

When  Chapman  glided  out  of  the  room,  the 
man  moved  always  in  such  a  stealthy  manner 
that  he  appeared  to  glide  instead  of  walk,  Burton 
exclaimed : 

"Do  you  know,  Jack,  that  that  man  Chapman 
can  irritate  me  more  by  his  detective  demeanor 
than  any  man  I  ever  saw  could  do  by  open  insult. 
I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  allowing  such  to  be 
the  case,  but  I  can't  help  it.  To  have  a  chap  about 
who  seems  to  be  always  playing  the  Sherlock 
Holmes  act  is  wearing  on  one's  patience.  Why, 

27 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


confound  it !  If  he  came  in  this  minute  to  say 
•that  we  needed  a  new  supply  of  postage  stamps 
he  would  make  such  a  detective  job  of  it  that  I 
should  feel  the  uncomfortable  sensation  that  the 
mailing  clerk  had  stolen  the  last  lot  purchased." 

Jack,  who  disliked  the  sneaky  and  secretive  as 
much  as  any  man  alive  and  had  just  been  irritated 
himself  by  Chapman's  untimely  scrutiny,  said : 

"I  am  not  astonished  and  don't  blame  you. 
While  I  have  known  Chapman  all  my  life,  I 
somehow,  as  a  boy  and  man,  have  always  felt 
when  talking  to  him  that  I  was  undergoing  an 
examination  before  a  police  magistrate." 

"Of  course  I  ought  to  consider  that  he  has 
been  with  the  house  for  more  than  forty  years 
and  is  fidelity  and  faithfulness  personified  to  'J. 
Dunlap,'  but  he  is  so  absurdly  jealous  and  sus 
picious  that  he  would  wear  out  the  patience  of  a 
saint,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  be  one,"  supplement 
ed  Burton. 

"Half  the  time,"  said  Jack,  glad  apparently  to 
discuss  Chapman  and  thus  avoid  the  subject 
which  beneath  the  surface  of  their  conversation 
was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  both  Burton  and 
himself. 

28 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"I  have  not  the  slightest  idea  what  'Old 
Chap,'  as  I  call  him,  is  driving  at.  He 
goes  hunting  a  hundred  miles  away  for  the  end  of 
a  coil  of  rope  that  is  lying  at  his  very  feet,  and  he 
is  the  very  devil,  too,  for  finding  out  anything  he 
wishes  to  know.  Why,  when  I  was  a  boy  and 
used  to  get  into  scrapes,  if  'Old  Chap'  cornered 
me  I  knew  it  was  no  use  trying  to  get  out  of  the 
mess  and  soon  learned  to  plead  guilty  at  once," 
and  Jack  smiled  in  a  dreary  kind  of  way  at  the 
recollection  of  some  of  his  boyish  pranks. 

"Well,  let  old  Chapman,  the  modern  Sherlock 
Holmes,  and  his  searching  disposition  go  for  the 
present.  Promise  to  be  sure  to  dine  with  Lucy 
tomorrow  evening.  She  expects  me  to  be  there 
also,  as  she  is  going  to  have  one  or  two  young 
women  and  needs  some  of  the  male  sex  to  talk 
to  them.  I  know  that  she  will  want  you  all  to 
herself,"  said  Burton. 

"Yes,  I'll  be  on  hand  all  right  tomorrow  night 
and  you  get  my  papers  in  shape  during  the  day, 
as  I  will  sail  as  early  day  after  tomorrow  as  the 
tide  serves,"  replied  the  captain. 

"By  the  way,  Jack !  Send  your  steward  to  me 

39 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


when  you  go  aboard  to  take  charge  of  the 
'Adams'  in  the  morning.  Tell  him  to  see  me 
personally.  You  sailors  are  such  queer  chaps 
and  care  so  little  about  your  larder  that  I  am 
going  to  see  to  it  myself  that  you  don't  eat  salt 
pork  and  hard  tack  on  your  voyage  out,  nor  drink 
bilge  water,  either." 

"You  are  awfully  kind,  Burton,  but  you  need 
not  trouble  yourself.  I  am  sure  common  sea  grub 
is  good  enough  for  any  sailor-man." 

As  they  walked  together  toward  the  front  door, 
when  Captain  Jack  was  leaving  the  building,  in 
the  narrow  aisle  between  the  long  rows  of  desks 
they  came  face  to  face  with  the  superintendent. 
He  stepped  aside  and  gazing  after  them,  whis 
pered  : 

"Strange,  very  strange,  for  Jack  Dunlap  to 
sail  so  soon." 

"Be  sure  to  send  that  steward  of  yours  to  me 
tomorrow,  Jack,"  called  the  manager  of  "J.  Dun- 
lap"  as  the  sturdy  figure  of  the  sailor  disappeared 
in  the  fog  that  filled  the  crooked  street  in  which 
Boston's  oldest  shipping  and  banking  house  had 
its  office. 

30 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"And  no  ship  ever  sailed  from  Boston  provided 
as  yours  shall  be,  poor  old  chap,"  muttered  the 
manager  as  he  hurried  back  to  his  own  room  in 
the  office.  "There  shall  be  champagne  enough 
on  board  the  'Adams,'  Jack,  to  drink  our  health, 
if  you  so  will,  on  our  wedding  day,  even  though 

you  be  off  Cape  Good  Hope." 

******* 

In  the  gloaming  that  dark  November  day  the 
Dunlap  brothers  were  seated  close  together,  side 
by  side,  in  silence  gazing  into  the  heap  of  coals 
that  burned  in  the  large  grate  before  them. 
John  Dunlap's  hand  rested  upon  the  arm  of  his 
brother,  as  if  in  the  mere  touching  of  him  who 
had  first  seen  the  light  in  his  company  there  was 
comfort. 

Burton  thought,  as  he  entered  the  private  of 
fice  that  no  finer  picture  was  ever  painted  than 
that  made  by  these  two  fine  old  American  gen 
tlemen  as  the  flame  from  the  crackling  cannel 
coal  shot  up,  revealing  their  kind,  gentle,  gen 
erous  faces  in  the  surrounding  gloom  of  the 
room. 

"Pardon  me,  gentlemen,"   said   the   manager, 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


pausing  on  the  threshold,  hesitating  to  break  in 
upon  a  scene  that  seemed  almost  sacred,  "but  I 
was  told  that  you  had  sent  for  me  while  I  was 
out  of  the  office." 

"Come  in,  Burton,  you  were  correctly  in 
formed,"  said  James  Dunlap,  still  neither  chang 
ing  his  position  nor  removing  his  gaze  from  the 
fire. 

"My  brother  John  and  I  have  determined  as  a 
mark  of  love  for  our  young  kinsman,  Captain 
John  Dunlap,  and  as  an  evidence  of  our  apprecia 
tion  for  faithful  services  rendered  to  us  as  mate 
and  master,  to  make  him  a  present  of  our  ship 
'Adams,'  now  loaded  for  Australia,"  continued 
James  Dunlap,  speaking  very  low  and  very  soft- 

iy. 

"You  will  please  have  the  necessary  papers  for 
the  transfer  made  out  tonight.  We  will  execute 
them  in  the  morning  and  you  will  see  that  the 
proper  entry  is  made  upon  the  register  at  the 
custom  house.  Have  the  full  value  of  the  ship 
charged  to  the  private  accounts  of  my  brother 
John  and  myself,  as  the  gift  is  a  personal  affair 
of  ours  and  others  interested  in  our  house  must 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


be  fully  indemnified,"  continued  the  old  man  as 
he  turned  his  eyes  and  met  his  brother's  assenting 
look. 

The  flame  blazing  up  in  the  grate  at  that  mo 
ment  cast  its  light  on  Burton's  flushed  face  as  he 
listened  to  the  closing  sentence  of  Mr.  James 
Dunlap's  instructions. 

"Forgive  me,  sir,  but  I  do  not  comprehend 
what  you  mean  by  'others  interested  in  our  house.' 
I  believe  other  than  yourselves  I  alone  have  the 
honor  to  hold  an  interest  in  your  house,"  and 
moving  forward  in  the  firelight  where  he  would 
stand  before  the  brothers  he  continued,  almost  in 
dignantly,  his  voice  vibrating  with  emotion : 

"You  do  me  bitter,  cruel  injustice  if  you  think 
that  I  do  not  wish,  nay  more,  earnestly  beg,  to 
join  in  this  gift.  I  have  learned  that  today  that 
would  urge  me  to  plead  for  permission  to  share 
in  this  deed  were  it  of  ten  times  the  value  of  the 
'Adams.' " 

Quickly  old  John  Dunlap,  rising  from  his  chair, 
placing  his  hand  on  Burton's  shoulder  and  re 
garding  him  kindly,  said : 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Burton,  very 

33 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


glad.  It  proves  your  heart  to  be  right,  but  it 
cannot  be  as  you  wish.  Jack  is  so  sensitive  even 
about  receiving  aid  from  us,  his  kinsmen,  that 
you  must  conceal  the  matter  from  him,  put  the 
transfer  and  new  registration  with  his  clearance 
papers  and  tell  him  it  is  our  wish  that  they  be 
not  opened  until  he  is  one  week  at  sea." 

"Could  the  transfer  not  be  made  just  in  the 
name  of  the  house  without  explanation?  He 
might  never  think  of  my  being  interested,"  urged 
the  manager  eagerly. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Walter,"  said  James  Dun- 
lap.  "Within  a  month  you  might  see  the  'Adams' 
sailing  back  into  Boston  harbor.  I  am  sorry  to 
deny  you  the  exercise  of  your  generous  impulse ; 
we  appreciate  the  intent,  but  think  it  best  not  to 
hamper  a  gift  to  this  proud  fellow  with  anything 
that  might  cause  its  rejection." 

Burton,  realizing  the  truth  of  the  position 
taken  by  the  brothers  and  the  hopelessness  of 
gaining  Jack  Dunlap's  consent  to  be  placed 
under  obligations  to  one  not  of  his  own  blood, 
could  offer  no  further  argument  upon  the  subject. 
Dejected  and  disappointed  he  turned  to  leave  the 

34 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


room  to  accomplish  the  wishes  expressed  by  the 
twins.  As  he  reached  the  door  John  Dunlap 
called  to  him. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  Burton.  Have  we  any  in 
terest  in  the  cargo  of  the  'Adams  ?'  " 

"About  one-quarter  of  her  cargo  is  agricultural 
implements  consigned  to  our  Australian  agent  for 
the  account  of  the  house,"  quickly  answered  the 
manager. 

"Charge  that  invoice  to  me  and  assign  it  to 
Jack." 

"Charge  it  jointly  to  us  both,"  added  James 
Dunlap. 

"No  you  don't,  James !  We  only  agreed  on  the 
ship.  John  is  my  godson  and  namesake.  I  have 
a  right  to  do  more  than  anyone  else,"  exultantly 
cried  the  kind  hearted  old,  fellow,  and  for  the  first 
time  that  day  he  laughed  as  he  slapped  his  brother 
on  the  shoulder  and  thought  of  how  he  had  got 
ten  ahead  of  him. 

Burton  was  obliged  to  smile  at  the  sudden 
anxiety  of  Mr.  John  to  get  rid  of  him  when  Mr. 
James  began  to  protest  against  his  brother's  sel 
fishness  in  wishing  to  have  no  partner  in  the  gift 
of  the  cargo. 

35 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Now,  you  just  hurry  up  those  papers,  Burton. 
Yes,  hurry!  Run  along!  Yes,  Yes,"  and  so 
saying  old  Mr.  John  fairly  rushed  him  out  of  the 
room. 

"How  I  wish  I  were  Captain  Jack's  uncle,  too," 
thought  Burton  sadly,  with  a  heart  full  of  gener 
ous  sympathy  for  the  man  who  he  knew  loved 
the  woman  that  ere  a  month  would  be  Mrs. 
Burton. 


III. 

SOME  men  have  one  hobby,  some  have 
many   and    some    poor   wretches    have 
none.     David  Chapman  had  three  hob 
bies  and  they  occupied  his  whole  mind  and  heart. 
First  in  place  and  honor  was  the  house  of  J. 
Dtmlap.     "The  pillared  firmanent"  might  fall  but 
his  fidelity  to  the  firm  which  he  had  served  for 
forty  years  could  never  fail.     His  was  the  fierce 
and  jealous  love  of  the  tigress  for  her  cub  where 
the  house  of  Dunlap  was  concerned.     He  actually 
suffered,  as  from  mortal  hurt,  when  any  one  or 
any  thing  seemed  to  separate  him  from  this  great 
object  of  his  adoration. 

He  had  ever  regarded  the  ownership  of  even 
a  small  interest  by  Walter  Burton  as  an  indig 
nity,  ah  outrage  and  a  sacrilege.  He  hated  him 
for  defiling  the  chiefest  idol  of  his  religion  and 
life.  He  was  jealous  of  him  because  he  sepa 
rated  in  a  manner  the  worshiper  from  the  wor 
shiped. 

37 


BLOOD     WILL       TELL 


Because  solely  of  jealous  love  for  this  High 
Joss  of  his,  Chapman  would  have  gladly,  cheer 
fully  suffered  unheard  of  agonies  to  rid 
the  house  of  J.  Dunlap  of  this  irreverent  inter 
loper  who  did  not  bear  the  sacred  name  of 
Dunlap. 

The  discovery  of  anything  concealed,  unrav 
elling  a  mystery,  ferreting  out  a  secret  was  the 
next  highest  hobby  in  Chapman's  trinity  of  hob 
bies.  He  was  passionately  fond  of  practicing 
the  theory  of  deduction,  and  was  marvelously 
successful  at  arriving  at  correct  conclusions. 
No  crime,  no  mystery  furnished  a  sensation  for 
the  Boston  newspapers  that  did  not  call  into  play 
the  exercise  of  this  the  second  and  most  peculiar 
hobby  of  Chapman. 

By  some  strange  freak  of  nature  in  compound 
ing  the  elements  to  form  the  character  of  David 
Chapman,  an  inordinate  love  for  music  was 
added  to  the  incongruous  mixture,  and  became 
the  man's  third  and  most  harmless  hobby.  Chap 
man  had  devoted  years  to  the  study  of  music, 
from  pure  love  of  sweet  and  melodious  sounds. 
In  the  great  and  musical  city  of  Boston  no  one 

38 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


excelled  him  as  master  of  his  favorite  instru 
ment,  the  violoncello.  Like  Balzac's  Herr 
Smucker,  in  his  hours  of  relaxation,  he  bathed 
himself  in  the  flood  of  his  own  melody. 

Chapman  owned,  he  was  not  poor,  and  occu 
pied  with  his  spinster  sister,  who  was  almost  as 
withered  as  himself,  a  house  well  down  in  the 
business  section  of  the  city.  He  could  not  be 
induced  to  live  in  the  more  desirable  suburbs. 
They  were  too  far  from  the  temple  of  his  chiefest 
idol,  the  house  of  J.  Dunlap. 

"Jack  Dunlap  sails  as  master  of  our  ship 
'Adams'  day  after  tomorrow,"  suggested  Chap 
man  meditatively,  as  he  sipped  his  tea  and 
glanced  across  the  table  at  the  dry,  almost  fos 
silized,  prim,  starchy,  old  lady  seated  opposite 
him  in  his  comfortable  dining  room  that  evening. 

"Impossible,  David,  the  boy  has  only  just  ar 
rived." 

And  the  little  old  lady  seemed  to  pick  at  the 
words  as  she  uttered  them  much  as  a  sparrow 
does  at  crumbs  of  bread. 

"It  is  not  impossible  for  it  is  a  fact,"  replied 
her  brother  dryly. 

39 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"What  is  the  reason  for  his  sudden  departure  ? 
Did  the  house  order  him  to  sea  again?"  pecked 
out  the  sister. 

"No,  that  is  the  strange  part  of  the  affair. 
Jack  himself  especialy  urged  his  appointment  to 
the  ship  sailing  day  after  tomorrow." 

"Then  it  is  to  get  away  from  Boston  before 
Lucy  is  married.  I  believe  he  is  in  love  with 
her  and  can't  bear  to  see  her  marry  Burton." 

Oh !  boastful  man,  with  all  your  assumed  supe 
riority  in  the  realm  of  reason  and  your  deductive 
theories  and  synthetical  systems  for  forming  cor 
rect  conclusions.  You  are  but  a  tyro,  a  mere 
infant  in  that  great  field  of  feeling  where  love 
is  crowned  king.  The  most  withered,  stale,  neg 
lected  being  in  whose  breast  beats  a  woman's 
heart,  by  that  mysterious  and  sympathetic  some 
thing  called  intuition  can  lead  you  like  the  child 
that  you  are  in  this,  woman's  own  province. 

"You  are  entirely  wrong,  Arabella,  as  usual. 
Jack  never  thought  of  Miss  Lucy  in  that  way; 
besides  he  and  Burton  are  exceedingly  friendly ; 
can't  you  make  it  convenient  to  visit  your  friends 
in  Bedford  and  see  Martha  Dunlap?  If  any- 

40 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


thing  'be  wrong  with  Jack,  and  I  can  help  him,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  The  mother  may  be  more 
communicative  than  the  son." 

"I  will  surely  make  the  attempt  to  learn  if  any 
thing  be  wrong,  and  gladly,  too;  I  have  always 
loved  thait  boy  Jack,  and  if  he  be  in  trouble  I 
want  you  to  help  him  all  in  your  power,  David." 
The  little  old  maid's  face  flushed  in  the  earnest 
ness  of  the  expression. 

"Burton  is  still  an  unsolved  problem  to  me," 
and  in  saying  the  words  Chapman's  jaws  moved 
with  a  kind  of  snap,  like  a  steel  trap,  while  his 
eyes  had  the  glitter  of  a  serpent's  in  them  as  he 
continued,  "for  years  I  have  observed  him  closely 
and  I  cannot  make  him  out  at  all.  I  am  baffled 
by  sudden  changes  of  mood  in  the  man ;  at  times 
he  is  reckless,  gay,  thoughtless,  frivolous,  and 
I  sometimes  think  lacking  in  moral  stamina; 
again  he  is  dignified,  kind,  courteous,  reserved 
and  seems  to  possess  the  highest  standard  of 
morals." 

"I  don't  suppose  that  he  is  unlike  other  men; 
they  all  have  moods.  You  do  yourself,  David, 
and  very  unpleasant  moods,  too,"  said  Arabella 

41 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


with  the  proverbial  sourness  of  the  typical  New 
England  spinster. 

"Well,  I  may  have  moods,  as  you  say,  Ara 
bella,  but  I  don't  break  out  suddenly  in  a  kind  of 
frenzy  of  gaiety,  sing  and  shout  like  a  street  Arab 
and  chen  as  quickly  relapse  into  a  superlatively 
dead  calm  of  dignity  and  the  irreproachable  de 
meanor  of  a  cultured  gentleman. 

"Now,  David,  you  are  allowing  your  dislike 
for  Burton  and  your  prejudice  to  overdraw  the 
picture,"  said  prim  Miss  Arabella,  as  she  daintily 
raised  the  teacup  to  her  lips. 

"I  am  not  overdrawing  the  picture!  I  have 
seen  and  heard  Burton  when  he  thought  that  he 
was  alone  in  the  office,  and  I  say  that  there  is 
something  queer  about  him;  Dr.  Jekyl  and  Mr. 
Hyde  of  that  old  story  are  common  characters 
in  comparison.  I  knew  his  ,  father  well ;  he  was 
an  every-day  sort  of  successful  business  man ; 
whom  his  father  married  and  what  she  was  like 
I  do  not  know,  but  I  shall  find  out  some  day,  as 
therein  may  lie  the  reading  of  the  riddle,"  re 
torted  the  brother  vehemently. 

"As  Lucy  Dunlap  will  be  married  to  the  man 

42 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


shortly  and  it  will  then  be  too  late  to  do  anything, 
no  matter  what  is  the  result  of  your  inquiry,  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  should  cease  to  interest 
yourself  in  the  matter,"  chirped  the  bird-like 
voice  of  Miss  Arabella. 

"I  can't!  I  am  absolutely  fascinated  by  the 
study  of  this  man's  strange,  incongruous  char 
acter  ;  you  remember  what  I  told  you  when  I  re 
turned  from  the  only  visit  I  ever  made  at 
Burton's  house.  It  was  business  that  forced  me 
to  go  there,  and  I  have  never  forgotten  what  I 
saw  and  heard.  I  am  haunted  by  something  that 
I  cannot  define,"  said  Chapman,  intensity  of  feel 
ing  causing  his  pale  face  and  hairless  head  to 
assume  the  appearance  of  the  bald-eagle  or  some 
other  bird  of  prey. 

"Think  of  it,  Arabella!  That  summer  day  as 
I  reached  the  door  of  his  lonely  dwelling,  sur 
rounded  by  that  great  garden,  through  the  open 
windows  there  came  crashing  upon  my  ears  such 
a  wild,  weird  burst  of  song  ihat  it  held  me  mo 
tionless  where  I  stood.  The  sound  of  those  musi 
cal  screams  of  melodious  frenzy,  dying  away  in 
rythmic  cadence  until  it  seemed  the  soft  summer 

43 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


breeze  echoed  the  sweet  harmony  in  its  sighing. 
Words,  music  and  expression  now  wild  and  un 
bridled  as  the  shriek  of  a  panther,  and  then  low, 
gentle  and  soothing  as  the  murmuring  of  a  peace 
ful  brook,"  cried  Chapman,  becoming  more  in 
tense  as  his  musical  memory  reproduced  the 
sounds  he  sought  to  describe. 

"David,  you  know  that  music  is  a  passion  with 
you,  and  doubtless  your  sensitive  ear  gave  added 
accent  and  meaning  to  the  improvised  music  of 
a  careless,  idle  young  man,"  interrupted  Miss 
Arabella. 

"Not  so!  Not  so!  I  swear  that  no  careless, 
idle  man  ever  improvised  such  wild  melody;  it 
is  something  unusual  in  the  man;  when  at  last 
the  outburst  ceased,  and  I  summoned  strength 
to  ring  the  bell,  there  was  something  almost  su 
pernatural  that  enabled  that  frenzied  musician 
to  meet  me  with  the  suavity  of  an  ordinary  cul 
tured  gentleman  of  Boston  as  Burton  did  when 
I  entered  his  sitting  room." 

"Brother,  I  fear  that  imagination  and  hatred 
in  this  instance  are  sadly  warping  your  usually 
sound  judgment,"  quietly  replied  the  sedate  sis- 

44 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ter,  seeing  the  increasing  excitement  of  her 
brother. 

"Imagination  created  also,  I  suppose,  the  un 
canny,  barbaric  splendor  with  which  his  apart 
ments  were  decorated  which  I  described  to  you," 
sneered  the  man. 

"All  young  men  affect  something  of  that  kind, 
I  am  told,  in  the  adornment  of  their  rooms,"  re 
joined  the  spinster,  mincing  her  words,  and,  old 
as  she  was,  assuming  embarassment  in  mention' 
ing  young  men's  rooms. 

"Nonsense !  Arabella,  I  have  seen  many  of  the 
Harvard  men's  rooms.  A  few  swords,  daggers, 
and  other  weapons;  a  skin  or  two  of  wild  ani 
mals  ;  something  of  that  kind,  but  Burton's  apart 
ments  were  differently  decorated;  masses  of 
striking  colors,  gaudy,  glaring,  yet  so  blended  by 
an  artistic  eye  that  they  were  not  offensive  to  the 
sight.  Articles  of  furniture  of  such  strange,  sav 
age  and  grotesque  shape  as  to  suggest  a  barbar 
ian  as  the  designer.  The  carving  on  the  wood 
work,  the  paneling,  the  tone  and  impression  cre 
ated  by  sight  of  it  all  were  such  as  must  have  filled 
the  souls  of  the  Spanish  conquerors  when  they 

45 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


first  gazed  upon  the  barbaric  grandeur  of  the 
Moors,  as  exposed  to  their  wondering  eyes  by 
the  conquest  of  Granada." 

"Don't  get  excited,  David!"  said  staid  Miss 
Arabella.  "Suppose  that  you  should  discover 
something  to  the  discredit  of  Burton,  what  use 
could  and  would  you  make  of  it?" 

The  veins  in  Chapman's  thin  neck  and  bony 
t>row  became  swollen  and  distended  as  if  strain 
ing  to  burst  the  skin  that  covered  them ;  his  eyes 
flashed  baleful  fire,  as  extending  his  arm  and 
grasping  the  empty  air  as  if  it  were  his  enemy, 
he  fairly  hissed : 

"I!  I!  I  would  tear  him  out  of  the  house  of 
J.  Dunlap,  intruder  that  he  is,  and  cast  him  into 
the  gutter !  Yea !  though  I  tore  the  heartstrings 
of  a  million  women  such  as  Lucy  Dunlap !  What 
is  she  or  her  heart  in  comparison  with  the  glory 
of  Boston's  oldest  business  name?" 

Panting,  as  a  weary  hound,  who  exhausted 
but  exultant,  fastens  his  fangs  in  the  hunted  stag, 
overcome  by  the  violence  of  his  hatred,  David 
Chapman  dropped  down  into  his  chair. 


46 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Nestling  among  grand  old  oaks  and  profusion 
of  shrubbery,  now  leafless  in  the  November  air 
of  New  England,  on  the  top  of  the  highest  hill 
in  that  portion  of  the  suburbs,  sat  the  "Eyrie," 
the  bachelor  home  of  Walter  Burton. 

Though  the  house  was  small,  the  conservatory 
adjoining  it  was  one  of  the  largest  in  the  city. 
Burton  was  an  ardent  lover  of  flowers,  and  an 
active  collector  of  rare  plants.  The  house  stood 
in  the  center  of  an  extensive  and  well  kept  gar- 
>den  through  which  winding  paths  ran  in  every 
direction. 

The  place  would  have  seemed  lonely  to  one 
not  possessing  within  himself  resources  sufficient 
to  furnish  him  entertainment  independent  of  the 
society  of  others. 

'Burton  never  knew  loneliness.  He  was  an  ac 
complished  musician,  an  artist  of  more  than  ordi 
nary  ability,  a  zealous  horticulturist,  and  an 
omnivorous  devourer  of  books. 

A  housekeeper  who  was  cook  at  the  same  time, 
one  man  and  a  boy  for  the  garden  and  conserva 
tory  and  a  valet  constituted  the  household  ser 
vants  of  the  "Eyrie." 

47 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


At  the  moment  that  Chapman's  wrathful  mind 
was  expressing  its  concentrated  hate  for  him,  the 
owner  of  the  white  house  on  the  hill  sat  'before 
the  open  grand  piano  in  his  music-room,  his 
shapely  hands  wandering  listlessly  over  the  keys, 
touching  them  once  in  a  while  in  an  aim'less  man 
ner.  The  young  man's  mind  was  filled  with 
other  thoughts  than  music. 

Chapman  had  drawn  an  accurate  picture  of 
Burton's  apartments  in  many  respects,  yet  he  had 
forgotten  to  mention  the  many  musical  instru 
ments  scattered  about  the  rooms.  Harp,  guitar, 
mandolin,  violin,  banjo  and  numberless  sheets 
of  music,  some  printed  and  some  written,  marked 
this  as  the  abode  of  a  natural  musician.  Burton 
was  equally  proficient  in  the  use  of  each  of  the 
instruments  lying  about  the  room,  as  well  as 
being  the  author  of  original  compositions  of  great 
beauty  and  merit. 

The  odor  of  violets  perfumed  the  whole  house. 
Great  bunches  of  these,  Burton's  favorite  flower, 
filled  antique  and  queerly  shaped  vases  in  each 
room. 

Burton  ceased  to  even  sound  the  keys  on  which 

48 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


his  hands  rested,  and  as  some  scene  was  disclosed 
to  fiis  sympathetic  soul,  his  soft  brown  eyes  were 
dimmed  by  a  suspicious  moisture.  Sighing 
sadly  he  murmured: 

"Poor  Jack !  White  I  am  in  a  heaven  of  bliss 
with  the  woman  I  love,  surrounded  by  all  that 
makes  life  enjoyable,  he,  poor  old  chap,  alone, 
heartsick  and  hopeless,  will  'be  battling  with  the 
stormy  waves  of  the  ocean.  Alas!  Fate  how 
inscrutable !" 

As  his  mind  drifted  onward  in  this  channel  of 
thought,  he  added  more  audibly,  "What  a  heart 
Jack  has!  There  is  a  man!  He  will  carry  his 
secret  uncomplaining  and  in  silence  to  his  grave, 
that,  too,  without  permitting  envy  or  jealousy 
to  fill  his  soul  with  hatred ;  I  would  that  I  could 
do  something  to  assuage  the  pain  of  that  brave 
heart."  And  at  the  word  "brave"  the  stream  of 
his  wandering  fancy  seemed  to  take  a  new  direc 
tion. 

"Brave!  Men  who  have  sailed  with  him  say 
he  knows  no  fear ;  the  last  voyage  they  tell  how 
he  sprang  into  the  icy  sea,  all  booted  as  he  was, 
waves  mountain  high,  the  night  of  inky  black- 

49 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ness,  to  save  a  worthless,  brutal  Lascar  sailor. 
Tender  as  a  woman,  when  a  mere  child  as  careful 
of  baby  Cousin  Lucy  as  a  granddame  could  be, 
and  ever  'her  sturdy  little  knight  and  champion 
from  babyhood.  Poor  Jack !" 

Again  the  current  of  his  thought  changed  its 
course.  He  paused  and  whispered  to  himself, 
"Lucy,  am  I  worthy  of  her?  Shall  I  prove  as 
kind,  as  true  and  brave  a  husband  .as  Jack  would 
"be  to  her?  Oh!  God,  I  hope  so,  I  will  try  so 
hard.  Sometimes  there  seems  to  come  a  strange 
inexplicable  spell  over  my  spirit — a  something 
that  is  beyond  my  control.  A  madness  seems  to 
possess  my  very  soul.  Involuntarily  I  say  and 
do  that,  during  the  time  that  this  mysterious 
influence  holds  me  powerless  in  its  grasp,  that  is 
so  foreign  to  my  natural  self  that  I  shudder  and 
grow  sick  at  heart  at  the  thought  of  the  end  to 
which  it  may  lead  me." 

At  the  recollection  of  some  horror  of  the  past 
the  young  man's  face  paled  and  he  shivered  as 
if  struck  by  a  cold  blast  of  winter  wind. 

"Ought  I  to  tell  Lucy  of  these  singular  mani 
festations?    Ought  I  to  alarm  my  darling  con- 
So 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


oerning  something  that  may  partly  be  imaginary  ? 
I  am  uncertain  what,  loving  her  as  I  do,  is  right ; 
I  can  always  absent  myself  from  her  presence 
when  I  feel  that  hateful  influence  upon  me,  and 
perhaps  after  I  am  married  I  may  be  freed  from 
the  horrible  thraldom  of  that  irresistible  power 
that  clutches  me  in  its  terrible  grasp.  I  cannot 
bear  the  idea  of  giving  my  dear  love  useless  pain 
or  trouble.  Had  I  not  better  wait?" 

At  that  moment  some  unpleasant  fact  must 
have  suggested  itself  or  rather  forced  itself  upon 
Burton's  mind  for  he  pushed  back  the  piano-stool 
and  rising  walked  with  impatient  steps  about  the 
room,  saying: 

"It  would  be  ridiculous!  Absurd!  Really 
unworthy  of  both  Lucy  and  myself  even  to  men 
tion  the  subject!  Long  ago  that  old,  nonsensical 
prejudice  had  disappeared,  at  least  among  culti 
vated  people  in  America.  There  is  not  a  shade 
of  doubt  but  that  both  the  Messrs.  Dun'lap  and 
Lucy  are  aware  of  the  fact  that  my  mother  was 
a  quadroon.  Doubtless  that  circumstance  is 
deemed  so  trivial  that  it  never  has  occurred  to 
them  to  mention  it  to  me.  People  of  education 

51 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


and  refinement,  regardless  of  the  color  of  skin, 
are  welcome  in  the  home  of  the  Dunlaps  as  every 
where  else  where  enlightenment  has  dispelled 
prejudice." 

He  paused  and  bursting  into  a  musical  and 
merry  laugh  at  something  that  his  memory  re 
called,  exclaimed, 

"Why,  I  have  seen  men  and  women  as  black 
as  the  proverbial  'ace  of  spades,'  the  guests  of 
honor  in  Mr.  James  Dunlap's  house,  as  elsewhere 
in  Boston.  I  shall  neither  bore  nor  insult  the 
intelligence  of  my  sweetheart  or  her  family  by 
introducing  the  absurd  subject  of  blood  in  con 
nection  with  our  marriage.  The  idea  of  blood 
making  any  difference !  Men  are  neither  hounds 
nor  horses!" 

Laughing  at  the  odd  conceit  that  men,  hounds 
and  horses  should  be  considered  akin  by  any  one 
not  absolutely  benighted,  he  resumed  his  seat  at 
the  piano  and  began  playing  a  gay  waltz  tune 
then  popular  with  the  dancing  set  of  Boston's 
exclusive  circle. 

As  Burton  ended  the  piece  of  music  with  a 
fantastic  flourish  of  his  own  composition,  he 

5* 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


turned  and  saw  his  valet  standing  silently  waiting 
for  his  master  to  cease  playing. 

"Ah!  Victor,  are  the  hampers  packed  care 
fully?"  exclaimed  Burton. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  valet,  pronouncing  his 
words  with  marked  French  accent.  "The  stew 
ard  at  your  club  furnished  all  the  articles  on  the 
list  that  the  housekeeper  lacked,  sir." 

"You  are  sure  that  you  put  in  the  hampers  the 
'44'  vintage  of  champagne,  the  Burgundy  im 
ported  by  myself,  and  you  examined  the  cigars 
to  be  certain  to  get  only  those  of  the  last  lot  from 
Havana?" 

"Quite  sure,  sir;  I  packed  everything  myself, 
as  you  told  me  you  were  especially  anxious  to 
have  only  the  very  best  selected,"  said  the  little 
Frenchman. 

"Now,  listen,  Victor;  tomorrow  I  dine  away 
from  home,  but  before  I  leave  the  house  I  shall 
arrange  a  box  of  flowers,  which,  with  the  ham 
pers,  you  are  to  carry  in  my  dog-cart  to  Dunlap's 
wharf  and  there  you  are  to  have  them  placed  in 
the  cabin  of  the  ship  'Adams.'  You  will  open  the 
box  of  flowers  and  arrange  them  tastefully,  as  I 

53 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


know  you  can,  about  the  master's  stateroom — 
take  a  half-dozen  vases  to  put  them  in." 

"Very  good,  sir;  it  shall  be  done  as  you  say, 
sir,"  answered  the  valet  bowing  and  moving  to 
ward  the  door. 

"Hold  on,  Victor!"  called  Burton,  "I  wish  to 
add  just  this :  if  by  any  accident,  no  matter  what, 
you  fail  to  get  these  things  on  board  the  'Adams' 
before  she  sails,  my  gentle  youth,  I  will  break 
your  neck." 

So  admonished  the  servant  bowed  low  and  left 
the  room,  as  his  master  turned  again  to  the  piano 
and  began  to  make  the  room  ring  with  a  furious 
and  warlike  march. 


54 


IV. 

THE  United  States  is  famous  for  its  beau 
tiful  women,  but  even  in  that  councry 
where  beauty  is  the  common  heritage  of 
her  daughters,  Lucy  Dunlap's  loveliness  of  face 
and  figure  shone  as  some  transcendent  planet  in 
the  bright  heavens  of  femininity  where  all  are 
stars. 

"How  can  you  be  so  cruel,  Jack,  as  to  run  away 
to  sea  again  so  soon  and  when  I  need  you  so 
much?" 

The  great  hazel  eyes  looked  so  pleadingly  into 
poor  Jack's  that  he  could  not  even  stammer  out 
an  excuse  for  his  departure. 

Sailors  possibly  appreciate  women  more  than 
all  other  classes  of  men.  They  are  so  much 
without  their  society  that  they  never  seem  to  re 
gard  them  as  landsmen  do,  and  Lucy  Dunlap  was 
an  exceptional  example  of  womankind  to  even 
the  most  blase  landsman.  Small  wonder  then 

55 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


that  sailor  Jack,  confused,  could  only  gaze  at  the 
lovely  being  before  him. 

Lucy  Dunlap,  though  of  the  average  height  of 
women,  seemed  taller,  so  round,  supple  and  elas 
tic  were  the  proportions  of  her  perfect  figure. 
The  charm  of  intellectual  power  gave  added 
beauty  to  a  face  whose  features  would  have 
caused  an  artist  to  realize  that  the  ideal  model  did 
not  exist  alone  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

In  the  spacious  drawing-room  of  Dunlap's 
mansion  were  gathered  those  who  had  enjoyed 
the  sumptuous  dinner  served  that  evening  in 
honor  of  their  sea-faring  kinsman.  Mr.  John 
Dunlap  was  relating  his  experiences  in  Port  au 
Prince  to  his  old  friend,  Mrs.  Church,  while  his 
brother,  with  that  old-fashioned  courtliness  that 
became  him  so  well,  was  playing  the  cavalier  to 
Miss  Winthrop,  one  of  his  granddaughter's 
pretty  friends.  Walter  Burton  was  'bending  over 
Miss  Stanhope,  a  talented  young  musician,  who, 
seated  before  the  piano,  was  scanning  a  new 
piece  of  music. 

There  seemed  a  mutual  understanding  'between 
all  of  those  present  that  Lucy  should  monopolize 

56 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


her  cousin's  attention  on  this  the  first  occasion 
that  she  had  seen  him  for  two  years,  and  proba 
bly  the  last  for  a  like  period  of  time.  In  a  far 
corner  of  the  great  room  Jack  and  Lucy  were 
seated  when  she  asked  the  question  mentioned, 
to  which  Jack  finaly  made  awkward  answer  by 
saying: 

"Oh !  well,  Lucy,  I  am  not  of  much  account  at 
social  functions.  I  should  only  be  in  some  one's 
way.  I  fancy  my  proper  place  is  the  quarter-deck 
of  a  ship  at  sea." 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Jack !  You  know  much  bet 
ter  than  that,"  said  his  cousin,  glancing  at  the 
manly,  frank  face  beside  her,  the  handsome,  curly 
blonde  head  carried  high  and  firm,  and  the  grand 
chest  and  shoulders  of  the  man,  made  more  no 
ticeable  by  the  close  fitting  dress  coat  that  he 
wore. 

"Why,  half  the  women  of  our  jet  in  Boston 
will  be  in  love  with  you  if  you  remain  for  my 
wedding.  Please  do,  Jack.  I  will  find  you  the 
prettiest  sweetheart  that  your  sailor-heart  ever 
pictured." 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  little  cousin,  to  disappoint 

57 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


you,  as  you  seem  to  have  expected  me  to  be  pres 
ent  at  your  wedding,"  said  Jack  manfully,  at 
tempting  to  appear  cheerful. 

"And  as  for  the  sweetheart  part  of  your  sug 
gestion,  it  may  be  ungallant  to  say  so,  but  I  don't 
'believe  there  is  any  place  in  my  log  for  that  kind 
of  an  entry." 

"How  odd  it  is,  Jack,  that  you  have  never  been 
in  love ;  why,  any  woman  could  love  you,  you  big- 
hearted  handsome  sailor." 

'Lucy's  admiring  glances  rested  upon  the  face 
of  'her  cousin  as  innocently  as  when  a  little  maid 
she  had  kissed  him  and  said  that  she  loved  him. 

"Yes,  it  is  rather  odd  for  a  man  never  to  love 
some  woman,  but  I  can't  say  that  I  agree  that 
any  woman  could  or  would  love  me,"  answered 
Jack  dryly,  as  he  smiled  at  the  earnest  face 
turned  toward  him. 

'Miss  Stanhope  played  a  magnificent  symphony 
as  only  that  clever  artist  could ;  Walter  Burton's 
clear  tenor  voice  rang  out  in  an  incomparable 
•solo  from  the  latest  opera,  but  Lucy  and  Jack, 
oblivious  to  all  else,  in  low  and  confidential  tones 
conversed  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room. 

58 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


As  of  old  when  she  was  a  child,  Lucy  had  nes 
tled  down  close  to  her  cousin  and  resting  one 
small  hand  upon  his  arm  was  artlessly  pouring 
out  the  whole  story  of  her  love  for  Walter  Bur 
ton,  her  bright  hopes  and  expectations,  the  joy 
that  filled  her  soul,  the  happiness  that  she  saw 
along  the  vista  of  the  future ;  all  with  that  free 
dom  from  reserve  that  marks  the  exchange  of 
confidences  between  loving  sisters. 

The  day  of  the  rack  and  stake  has  passed,  but 
as  long  as  human  hearts  shall  beat,  the  day  of 
torture  can  never  come  to  a  close;  Jack  listened 
to  the  heart  story  of  the  innocent,  confiding 
woman  beside  him,  who,  all  unaware  of  the  tor 
ture  she  was  inflicting,  painted  the  future  in 
words  that  wrung  more  agony  from  his  soul  than 
rack  or  stake  could  have  caused  his  body. 

How  bravely  he  battled  against  the  pain  that 
every  word  brought  to  his  breast!  Pierced  by 
a  hundred  darts  he  still  could  meet  the  artless 
gaze  of  those  bright,  trusting,  hazel  eyes  and 
smile  in  assurance  of  his  interest  and  sympathy. 

"But  of  course  my  being  married  must  make 
no  difference  with  you,  Cousin  Jack.  You  must 

59 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


love  me  as  you  always  have,"  she  said,  as  if  the 
thought  of  losing  something  she  was  accustomed 
to  have  just  occurred  to  her  mind. 

"I  shall  always  love  you,  Lucy,  as  I  ever  have." 
The  sailor's  voice  came  hoarse  and  deep  from  the 
broad  breast  that  rose  and  fell  like  heaving  bil 
lows. 

"You  know,  Jack,  that  you  were  always  my 
refuge  and  strength  in  time  of  trouble  or  danger 
when  I  was  a  child,  and  even  with  dear  Walter 
for  my  husband  I  still  should  feel  lost  had  I  not 
you  to  call  upon."  Lucy's  voice  trembled  a  little 
and  she  grasped  Jack's  strong  arm  with  the  hand 
that  rested  there  while  they  had  been  talking. 

"You  may  call  me  from  the  end  of  the  earth, 
my  dear,  and  feel  sure  that  I  shall  come  to  you," 
said  Jack  simply,  but  the  earnest  manner  was 
more  convincing  to  the  woman  at  his  side  than 
fine  phrases  would  have  been. 

"Oh !  Jack !  what  a  comfort  you  are,  and  how 
much  I  rely  upon  you.  It  makes  me  quite  strong 
and  brave  to  know  that  my  marriage  will  make 
no  change  in  your  love  for  me." 

"As  long  as  life  shall  last,  my  cousin,  I  shall 

60 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


love  you,"  replied  the  man  almost  sadly,  as  he 
placed  his  hand  over  her's  that  held  his  arm. 

"Or  until  some  day  you  marry  and  your  wife 
becomes  jealous,"  added  Lucy  laughing. 

"Or  until  I  marry  and  my  wife  is  jealous," 
repeated  Dunlap  with  the  faintest  kind  of  em 
phasis  upon  "until." 

Miss  Stanhope  began  to  play  a  waltz  of  the 
inspiring  nature  that  almost  makes  old  and  gouty 
feet  to  tingle,  and  is  perfectly  irresistible  to  the 
young  and  joyous.  Burton  and  Miss  Winthrop 
in  a  minute  were  whirling  around  the  drawing- 
room.  How  perfectly  Burton  could  dainoe;  his 
easy  rythmic  steps  were  the  very  poetry  of  mo 
tion.  Lucy  and  Jack  paused  to  watch  the  hand 
some  couple  as  they  glided  gracefully  through 
the  room. 

"Does  not  Walter  dance  beautifully?"  ex 
claimed  Lucy  as  she  followed  the  dancers  with 
admiring  glances. 

"Bertie  Winthrop,  who  was  at  Harvard  with 
Walter,  says  that  when  they  were  students  and 
had  their  stag  parties  if  they  rould  catch  Walter 
in  what  Bertie  calls  'a  gay  mood,'  he  would  as- 

61 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


toni'sh  them  with  his  wonderful  dancing.  Bertie 
vows  that  Walter  can  dance  any  kind  of  thing 
from  a  vulgar  gig  to  an  exquisite  ballet,  but  he 
is  so  awfully  modest  about  it  that  he  denies  Ber 
tie's  story  and  will  not  dance  anything  but  the 
conventional,"  continued  Lucy. 

"Take  a  turn,  Jack !"  called  Burton  as  he  and 
his  partner  swept  by  the  corner  where  the  sailor 
and  his  cousin  were  seated,  and  added  as  he 
passed,  "It  is  your  last  chance  for  some  time." 

"Come  on,  Jack,"  cried  Lucy  springing  up  and 
extending  her  hands.  A  moment  more  and  Jack 
was  'holding  near  his  bosom  the  woman  for 
whom  his  heart  would  beat  until  death  should  still 
it  forever. 

Oft  midst  the  howling  winds  and  angry  waves, 
when  storm  tossed  on  tihe  sea,  will  Jack  dream 
o'er  again  the  heavenly  bliss  of  those  few  mo 
ments  when  close  to  his  heart  rested  she  who 
was  the  beacon  light  of  his  sailor's  soul. 

When  the  music  of  the  waltz  ended,  Jack  and 
•his  fair  partner  found  themselves  just  in  front 
of  the  settee  where  John  Dunlap  and  Mrs. 
Church  were  seated. 

62 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Uncle  John,  I  have  been  trying  to  induce  Jack 
to  stay  ashore  until  after  my  wedding,"  said 
Lucy  addressing  Mr.  John  Dunlap  who  had  been 
following  her  and  her  partner  with  his  eyes,  in 
which  was  a  pained  expression,  as  they  had  cir 
cled  about  the  room. 

"Won't  you  help  me,  Uncle  John  ?"  added  the 
young  woman  in  that  pleading  seductive  tone 
that  always  brought  immediate  surrender  on  the 
part  of  both  her  grandfather  and  granduncle. 

"I  am  afraid,  Lucy,  that  I  can't  aid  you  this 
time,"  replied  the  old  gentleman  and  there  was 
so  much  seriousness  in  his  sun-burnt  face  that 
Lucy  exclaimed  anxiously : 

"Why?  What  is  the  matter  that  the  house 
must  send  Cousin  Jack  away  almost  as  soon  as  he 
gets  home?" 

"Nothing  is  the  matter,  dear,  but  it  is  an  op 
portunity  for  your  cousin  to  make  an  advance 
ment  in  his  profession,  and  you  must  not  be 
selfish  in  thinking  only  of  your  own  happiness, 
my  child.  You  know  men  must  work  and 
women  must  wait,"  replied  her  uncle. 

"Oh!  Is  that  it?  Then  I  must  resign  myself 

63 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


with  good  grace  to  the  disappointment.  I  would 
not  for  the  world  have  any  whim  of  mine  mar 
dear  old  Jack's  prospects,"  and  Lucy  clasped 
both  of  her  dimpled  white  hands  affectionately 
on  her  cousin's  arm,  which  she  still  retained  after 
the  waltz  ended,  as  she  uttered  these  sentiments. 

"I  know  Jack  would  make  any  sacrifice  for  me 
if  I  really  insisted." 

"I  am  sure  that  he  would,  Lucy,  so  don't  in>- 
sist,""  said  John  Dunlap  very  seriously  and  posi 
tively. 

Just  then  Burton  began  singing  a  mournfully 
sweet  song,  full  of  sadness  and  pathos,  accom 
panying  himself  on  a  guitar  that  had  been  lying 
on  the  music  stand.  All  conversation  ceased. 
Every  one  turned  to  look  at  the  singer.  What  a 
mellow,  rich  voice  had  Walter  Burton.  What 
expression  he  put  into  the  music  and  words ! 

W'hat  a  handsome  man  he  was !  As  he  leaned 
forward  holding  the  instrument,  and  lightly 
touching  the  strings  as  he  sang,  Lucy  thought 
him  a  perfect  Apollo.  Her  eyes  beamed  with 
pride  and  love  as  she  regarded  her  future  hus 
band. 

64 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


None  noticed  the  flush  and  troubled  frown  on 
old  John  Dunlap's  face.  Burton's  crossed  legs 
had  drawn  his  trousers  tightly  around  the  limb 
below  the  knee,  revealing  an  almost  total  absence 
of  calf  and  that  the  little  existing  was  placed 
higher  up  than  usually  is  the  case.  That  pecul- 
iarty  or  some tlh  ing  never  to  be  explained  had 
brought  some  Haitian  scene  back  to  the  memory 
of  the  flushed  and  frowning  old  man  and  sent  a 
pang  of  regret  and  fear  through  his  kind  heart. 

"God  bless  and  keep  you,  lad !  Jack,  you  are 
the  last  of  the  Dunlaps,"  said  Mr.  John  Dunlap 
solemnly  as  they  all  stood  in  the  hall  when  the 
sailor  was  leaving. 

"Amen !  most  earnestly,  Amen !"  added  Mr. 
James  Dunlap,  placing  his  hand  on  Jack's 
shoulder. 

"Good-by!  dear  Jack,"  said  Lucy  sorrowfully 
while  tears  filled  her  eyes,  when  she  stood  at  the 
outer  door  of  the  hall  holding  her  cousin's  hand. 

"Think  of  me  on  the  twentieth  of  next  month, 
niy  wedding  day,"  she  added,  and  then  drawing 
the  hand  that  she  held  close  to  her  breast  a*s  if 
still  clinging  to  some  old  remembrance  and  anx- 

65 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ious  to  keep  fast  hold  of  the  past,  fearful  that  it 
would  escape  her,  she  exclaimed: 

"Remember,  you  are  still  my  trusty  knight  and 
champion,  Jack !" 

"Until  death,  Lucy,"  replied  the  man,  as  he 
raised!  the  little  white  hand  to  his  lips  and  rev 
erently  kissed  it. 

She  stood  watching  the  retreating  figure  until 
it  was  hidden  by  the  gloom  of  the  ghostly  elms 
that  lined  the  avenue.  As  she  turned  Burton 
was  at  her  side. 

"How  horribly  lonely  Jack  must  be,  Walter," 
she  said  in  pitying  tones. 

"More  so  than  even  you  realize,  Lucy,"  re 
joined  Burton  sadly. 

Alone  through  the  darkness  strode  a  man  with 
a  dull,  hard,  crushing  pain  in  his  brave,  faithful 

heart: 

*  *  *  #  *  *  * 

"The  child  will  be  ruined,"  said  all  the  old 
ladies  of  the  Dunlaps'  acquaintance  when  they 
learned  that  it  had  been  determined  by  the  child's 
grandfather  to  keep  the  motherless  and  father 
less  little  creature  at  home  with  him,  rather  than 

66 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


send1  her  to  reside  with  some  remote  female  mem 
bers  of  'her  mother's  family. 

"Those  two  old  gentlemen  will  surely  spoil 
her  to  that  degree  that  she  will  be  unendurable 
when  she  becomes  a  young  woman,"  asserted  the 
women  with  feminine  positiveness. 

"They  will  make  her  Princess  of  the  house  of 
Dunlap,  I  suppose,"  added  the  most  acrimonious. 

To  a  degree  these  predictions  were  verified  by 
the  result,  but  only  to  a  degree.  The  twin 
brothers  almost  worshiped  the  beautiful  little 
maiden,  and  did  in  very  fact  make  her  their  Prin 
cess,  and  so,  too,  was  she  often  called ;  but  possi 
bly  through  no  merit  in  the  management  of  the 
brothers,  probably  simply  because  Lucy  was  not 
spoilable  was  the  desirable  end  arrived  at  that 
she  grew  to  be  a  most  amiable  and  agreeable 
woman. 

The  son  of  Mr.  John  Dunlap,  the  father  of 
Lucy,  survived  but  one  year  the  death  of  his  wife, 
which  occurred1  when  Lucy  was  born.  Thus  her 
grandfather  and  uncle  became  sole  protectors  and 
guardians  of  the  child ;  that  is  until  the  lad,  Jack 
Dunlap,  came  to  live  at  the  house  of  his  god 
father, 

67 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Young  Jack  was  the  only  child  of  a  second 
cousin  of  the  twin  brothers ;  his  father  had  been 
lost  at  sea  when  Jack  was  yet  a  (baby.  His 
mother,  Martha  Dunlap,  had  gladly  availed  her 
self  of  the  kind  offer  of  the  boy's  kinsman  and 
godfather,  when  'he  proposed  that  the  boy  should 
come  and  live  with  him  in  Boston,  where  he  could 
obtain  better  opportunities  for  securing  an  edu 
cation  than  he  could  in  the  old  town  of  Bedford. 

Jack  was  twelve  years  of  age  when  he  became 
an  inmate  of  the  Dunlap  mansion,  and  a  robust, 
sturdy  little  curly  haired  chap  ihe  was ;  Princess 
Lucy's  conquest  was  instantaneous.  Jack  imme 
diately  enrolled  himself  as  the  chief  henchman, 
servitor  and  guard  of  the  pretty  fairy-like  maid 
of  six  years.  No  slave  was  ever  more  obedient 
and  humble. 

Great  games  awoke  the  echoes  through  Dun- 
tep's  stately  old  dwelling ;  in  winter  the  lawn  was 
converted  into  a  slide,  the  fish-pond  into  a  skat 
ing-rink;  in  summer  New  Hampshire's  hills 
reverberated  with  the  merry  shouts  of  Jack  and 
"Princess"  Lucy  or  flying  over  the  blue  waters 
of  the  bay  in  the  yacht  *that  his  godfather  had 

68 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


given  him  Jack,  aided  by  Lucy's  fresh  young 
voice,  sang  rollicking  songs  of  the  sea. 

The  old  gentlemen  dubbed  Jack,  "Lucy's 
Knight,"  and  were  always  perfectly  satisfied 
when  the  little  girl  was  with  her  cousin. 

"He  is  more  careful  of  her  than  we  are  our 
selves,"  they  would  reply  when  speaking  of  Jack 
and  his  guardianship. 

All  the  fuming  of  Miss  Lucy's  maids  and  the 
complaints  of  Miss  Lucy's  governess  availed 
nothing,  for  even  good  old  Mrs.  Church  joined 
in  the  conspiracy  of  the  grandfather  and  uncle, 
saying : 

"She  is  perfectly  safe  in  Jack's  care,  and  I 
wish  to  see  rosy  cheeks  rather  than  hear  Emer 
sonian  philosophy  from  our  pet/' 

Notwithstanding  the  "lots  of  fun,"  as  Jack 
used  to  call  their  frolics,  Lucy  and  Jack  did  good 
hard  work  with  their  books,  music  and  "all  the 
rest  of  it,"  as  the  young  people  called  drawing 
and  dancing. 

When  Jack  became  twenty  years  of  age,  and 
was  prepared  to  enter  Harvard  college,  where 
Mr.  Jdhn  Dunlap  proposed  to  send  him,  he  made 

69 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


his  appearance  one  day  in  the  city  and  asked  to 
see  his  kind  kinsman. 

"I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  great  kindness  in 
offering  to  place  me  in  Harvard  College,  as  I 
dto  for  all  the  countless  things  you  have  done  for 
me,  but  I  can't  accept  your  generous  proposition. 
You  will  not  be  angry,  I  am  sure,  for  you  know, 
I  hope,  how  grateful  I  am  for  all  you  have  done. 
But,  sir,  I  have  a  widowed  mother  and  I  wish  to 
go  to  work  that  I  may  earn  money  for  'her  and 
obtain  a  start  in  life  for  myself,"  said  Jack  with 
boyish  enthusiasm  when  admitted  to  the  presence 
of  Mr.  John  Dunlap. 

Though  the  old  gentleman  urged  every  argu 
ment  to  alter  Jack's  determination,  the  boy  stood 
firmly  by  what  he  had  said. 

"You  are  my  namesake,  tihe  only  male  repre 
sentative  of  our  family;  neither  you  nor  your 
mother  shall  ever  want.  I  have  more  money 
than  I  need."  Many  other"  inducements  were 
offered!  still  the  young  man  insisted  upon  the 
course  that  he  laid  out  for  himself. 

"I  am  a  sailor's  son  and  have  a  sailor's  soul; 
j.  wish  to  go  to  sea,"  Jack  finally  exclaimed. 

70 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Both  of  t)he  twins  loved  Jack.  He  had  been 
so  long  in  their  house  and  so  closely  associated 
with  Lucy  that  he  seemed  more  to  them  than,  a 
remote  young  kinsman. 

Finding  Jack's  decision  unalterable,  a  compro 
mise  was  effected  on  the  subject.  Jack  should 
sail  in  one  of  their  coasting  ships,  and  when  on 
shore  at  Boston  continue  to  make  their  house  his 
home. 

'Great  was  the  grief  of  Lucy  at  parting  with 
her  Jack,  as  she  called  him.  But  consoling  her 
self  with  the  thought  that  she  should  see  him 
often  and  that  the  n'ext  autumn  she  should  be 
obliged  to  leave  Boston  for  some  dreadful  semi 
nary  and  thus  they  would  be  separated  under  any 
circumstances,  she  dried  her  eyes  an'd  entered 
with  enthusiasm  into  his  preparations  for  sea, 
saying,  "I  have  a  good  mind  to  dress  up  as  a  boy 
and  go  with  Jack !  I  declare  I  would  do  it,  were 
it  not  for  grandfather  and  Uncle  John." 

JackTs  kit  on  his  first  voyage  was  a  marvel  in 
the  way  of  a  sailor's  outfit;  Lucy  had  made  a 
bankrupt  of  herself  in  the  purchase  of  the  most 
extraordinary  handkerchiefs,  caps,  shirts  and 
things  of  that  kind  that  could  be  found  in  Bos- 

71 


BLOOD  WILL   TELL 


ton,  saying  proudly  to  Mrs.  Church  when  dis 
playing  the  assortment: : 

"Nothing  is  too  good  for  my  sailor  boy." 

After  several  years  of  sea  service  Mr.  James 
Dunlap,  during  the  residence  of  his  brother  in 
Haiti,  had  tendered  to  Jack  a  position  in  the  office, 
hoping  that  having  seen  enough  of  the  ocean  he 
would  be  willing  to  remain  ashore  and  possibly 
with  a  half-formed  hope  that  Jack  would  win 
Lucy's  hand  and  thus  the  house  of  Dunlap  con 
tinue  to  survive  for  other  generations. 

Much  to  the  chagrin  of  Lucy's  grandfather, 
Jack  absolutely  refused  to  entertain  the  proposi 
tion,  saying: 

I  should  be  of  no  earthly  use  in  the  office.  I  am 
not  competent  to  fill  any  position  there,  and  I 
positively  will  not  accept  a  sinecure.  If  you 
wish  to  advance  me,  do  so  in  the  line  of  my  pro 
fession!  Make  me  master  of  your  ship  Lucy 
anid  let  me  take  her  for  a  two  years'  cruise  in 
Eastern  waters." 

Thus  it  happened  that  Jack  was  absent  from 
Boston  for  two  years  and  returned  to  find  that 
he  had  lost  that,  that  all  the  gold  of  El  Dorado 
could  not  replace — the  woman  whom  he  loved. 

72 


V. 

MOTHER   SYBELLA,  Mother  Sybella! 
May  I  approach  ?  yelled  every  few  min 
utes  the  man  seated  on  a  rock  half  way 
up  the  hill  that  rose  steep  from   the    Port   au 
Prince  highway. 

The  neglected  and  broken  pavement  of  the 
road  that  remained  as  a  monument  to  the  long- 
departed  French  governors  of  Haiti  was  almost 
hidden  by  the  rank,  luxurious  growth  of  tropical 
plants  on  either  sidle  of  it.  As  seen  from  the 
hillside,  where  the  man  was  sitting,  it  seemed 
an  impracticable  path  for  even  the  slowly  moving 
donkeys  which  here  and  there  crawled  between 
the  overhanging  vegetation. 

The  man  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  but  throwing  back  his  head,  at  intervals  of 
possibly  fifteen  minutes,  as  if  addressing  the 
blazing  sun  above,  bawled  out  at  the  top  of  his 
voice: 

73 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Mother  Sybella!  Mother  Sybella!  May  I 
approach  ?" 

The  man  was  a  mulatto,  though  with  features 
markedly  of  the  negro  type;  around  his  head  he 
wore  a  much  sailed  white  handkerchief.  His 
body  was  fairly  bursting  out  of  a  tight-fitting 
blue  coat  of  military  fashion,  adorned  with  im 
mense  brass  buttons.  His  bare  feet  and  long 
thin  shanks  appeared  below  dirty  duck  trousers 
that  once  had  been  white. 

There  evidently  was  something  awe-inspiring 
about  the  name  that  he  shouted  even  though  the 
rest  of  the  words  were  unintelligible  to  the  na 
tives.  The  man  shouted  his  request  in  the 
English  language;  the  natives  of  Haiti  used  a 
jargon  of  French,  English  and  native  dialect 
difficult  to  understand1  and  impossible  to  describe 
or  reproduce  in  writing. 

If,  when  the  man  called,  a  native  were  passing 
along  the  highway,  ais  sometimes  happened,  he 
would  spring  forward  so  violently  as  to  endanger 
the  safety  of  the  huge  basket  of  fruit  or  vegeta 
bles  that  he  carried  upon  his  head,  and  glancing 
over  his  shoulder  with  dread  in  his  distended, 

74 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


white  and  rolling  eyes,  would  break  into  a  run 
and  speed  forward  as  if  in  mortal  terror. 

The  man  had  just  given  utterance  to  a  louder 
"howl  than  usual  when  he  felt  the  grip  of  bony 
claw-like  fingers  on  his  shoulder;  with  one  un 
earthly  yell  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  turned  and  fell 
upon  his  knees  before  the  figure  that  so  silently 
had  stolen  to  his  side. 

"Has  the  yellow  dog  'brought  a  bone  to  his 
mother  ?"  The  words  were  spoken  in  the  patois 
of  the  native  Haitians  with  which  the  man  was 
familiar. 

The  speaker  was  a  living,  animated  but  mum 
mified  black  crone  of  a  woman.  She  leaned 
upon  a  staff  made  of  three  human  thigh  bones, 
joined  firmly  together  by  wire.  Her  fleshless 
fingers  looked  like  the  talons  of  a  vulture  as  she 
gripped  the  top  of  her  horrid  prop  and  bent  for 
ward  toward  the  man. 

Her  age  seemed  incalculable  in  decades;  cen 
turies  appeared  to  have  passed  since  she  was 
born.  The  wrinkles  in  her  face  were  as  gashes 
in  black  and  aged  parchment,  so  deep  were  they. 
The  skin  over  her  toothless  jaws  was  so  drawn 

75 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


and  stretched  by  untold  time  that  the  very  hinges 
of  the  jaw  were  plainly  traced;  in  caver 
nous,  inky  holes  dug  deep  beneath  the  retreating 
forehead  sparkled,  like  points  of  flame,  eyes  so 
bright  and  glittering  that  sparks  of  electric  fire 
shot  forth  in  the  gaze  by  which  she  transfixed 
the  groveling  wretch  at  her  feet. 

"Answer,  Manuel ;  what  have  you  brought  for 
Mother  Sybella?" 

Finally  the  startled  and  fearful  Manuel  found 
courage  to  reply: 

"The  coffee,  sugar,  ham  and  calico  are  in  that 
bundle  lying  over  there,  Mother  Sybella,"  and  the 
man  pointed  to  a  roll  of  matting  near  him. 

"And  I  told  you  to  gather  all  the  gossip  and 
news  of  Port  au  Prince.  Have  you  done  so?" 
queried,  the  hag  with  a  menacing  gesture. 

"Yes !  yes !  Mother ;  every  command  has  been 
obeyed.  I  have  learned  what  people  are  talking 
of,  and,  too,  I  have  brought  some  printed)  talk 
from  among  the  Yankees,"  cried  the  mulatto 
quickly,  anxious  to  propitiate  the  crone. 

"Fool,  you  know  I  can't  make  out  the  Yankee 
printed  talk,"  snarled  the  sunken  lips. 

76 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"I  can  though,  Mother  Sybella ;  I  lived  among 
the  Yankees  many  years.  I  will  tell  you  what 
they  talk  of  concerning  our  country,"  said  the 
man  rising  from  his  knees. 

"I  will  listen  here  in  the  sun's  rays ;  I  am  cold. 
Sit  there  at  my  feet,"  mumbled  the  hag,  crouch 
ing  down  on  the  rock  that  had  been  occupied  by 
Manuel. 

"Begin,"  she  commanded  fiercely,  fixing  her 
keen  gaze  upon  the  yellow  face  below  her. 

"Dictator  Dupree  is  unable  to  obtain  money  to 
pay  the  army;  the  Yankees  and  English  will  not 
make  a  loan  unless  concessions  be  made  to  the 
whites." 

"What  says  Dupree?"  muttered  the  old 
woman. 

"Dupree  fears  an  insurrection  of  the  people 
if  he  make  concession's  to  the  whites,  and  an  out 
break  by  the  army  if  he  fail  to  pay  the  arrears 
due  to  it.  He  is  distracted  and  knows  not  which 
move  to  make,"  answered  the  yellow  man  at  the 
hag's  feet. 

"Dupree  is  a  coward!  Let  him  come  to  me 
and  see  how  quickly  his  difficulties  disappear! 

77 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


The  army  is  worthless,  the  people  powerful," 
cried  Sybella. 

"Go  on!  Squash-head,"  she  ordered. 

"Twenty  priests,  with  a  Bishop  at  their  head, 
have  come  from  France,  and  go  among  the  peo 
ple  urging  them'  to  attend  the  churches,  and 
threatening  them  with  awful  punishment  here 
after  if  they  fail  to  heed  the  commands  of  the 
priests,"  continued  Manuel. 

"Much  good  may  it  do  the  black-gowns," 
chuckled  the  old  creature,  making  a  horrible 
grimace  in  so  doing. 

"My  children  fear  Sybella  more  than  the  black- 
gowns'  hell,"  she  cackled  exultantly. 

"The  priests  are  trying  to  persuade  the  Dic 
tator  to  give  them  permission  to  re-open  those 
schools  that  have  been  closed  so  long,  but  Dupree 
'has  not  consented  yet.  He  seems  to  fear  the 
anger  of  the  black  party  in  Haiti,"  sai'd  the 
witch's  newsman. 

"He  does  well  to  hesitate !"  exclaimed  Sybella. 

"If  he  consent,  I  shall  set  up  my  altar,  call  my 
children  around  me  and  then!  and  then!  No 
matter,  he  is  a  coward ;  he  will  never  dare  con- 

78 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


sent,"  she  added.  The  mulatto  here  drew  from 
his  bosom  a  newspaper.  Shading  his  eyes  from 
the  sun's  glare,  he  began  searching  for  any  item 
of  news  in  the  Boston  paper  that  he  had  secured 
in  Port  au  Prince,  which  might  interest  his  terri 
fying  auditor. 

"Do  you  wish  to  know  about  the  Yankee  Presi 
dent  and  Congress?"  he  asked  humbly,  pausing 
as  he  turned  the  sheet  of  the  newspaper. 

"No !  you  ape,  unless  they  mention  our  island," 
replied  the  woman,  her  watchful  eyes  looking 
curiously  at  the  printed  paper  that  the  man  held. 

"About  the  s'hips  coming  and  going  between 
the  United  States  and  Haiti?"  he  asked  anx 
iously,  as  if  fearing  that  he  might  miss  some 
thing  of  importance  to  the  black  seeress. 

"No !  That  is  an  old  story ;  the  accursed  Yan 
kees  are  ever  coming  and  going,  restless  fools," 
said  the  woman. 

"Here  is  a  long  account  of  a  grand  wedding 
of  a  wealthy  Haitien  that  has  just  taken  place  in 
Boston.  He  married  the  granddaughter  and 
heiress  of  J.  Dunlap,  who  is  largely  interested 
in  our  island,"  remarked  Manuel  interrogatively. 

79 


BLOOD  WILL   TELL 


"His  name !  fool,  his  name !"  almost  screamed 
the  hag,  springing  to  her  feet  with  an  agility 
fearful  to  contemplate  in  one  so  decrepit,  sug 
gesting  supernatural  power  to  the  beholder. 
Manuel,  with  trembling  lip,  cried,  as  she  fastened 
him  in  the  shoulder  with  her  claws: 

"Burton!     Walter  Burton!" 

Without  changing,  by  even  a  line  her  fingers 
from  the  place  where  she  had  first  fixed  them  in 
the  flesh  of  the  frightened  man,  she  dragged 
'him,  bulky  as  he  was,  to  his  feet,  and  up  the 
steep,  pathless  hillside  with  a  celerity  that  was 
awful  to  the  frightened  mulatto. 

A  deep  ravine  cutting  into  the  back  of  the  hill 
formed  a  precipice.  Along  the  face  of  the  rocky 
wall  thus  formed  a  narrow,  ill-defined  footway 
ran,  almost  unsafe  for  a  mountain  goat.  Nearly 
a  thousand  feet  below,  dark  and  forbidding  in 
the  gloom  of  jungle  and  spectral  moss-festooned 
trees,  roared  the  sullen  mutterings  of  a  mountain 
torrent. 

When  near  the  top  of  the  hill,  with  a  quick 
whirl  the  black  crone  darted  aside  and  around 
the  elbow  of  the  hill,  dragging  Manuel  along  at 

80 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


a  furious  pact,  she  dashed  down  the  precipitous 
path  with  the  swiftness  and  confidence  of  an  Al 
pine  chamois. 

Half  way  down  the  cliff,  a  ledge  of  rock  made 
scanty  foundation  for  a  hut  of  roughly  hewn 
saplings,  thatched  with  the  palm  plants  of  the 
ravine  below.  So  scarce  was  room  for  the  hovel 
that  but  one  step  was  necessary  to  reach  the  brink 
of  the  declivity. 

As  the  excited  hag  reached  the  aperture  that 
served  as  the  doorwoy  of  her  den,  a  hideous, 
blear-eyed  owl,  who  like  an  evil  spirit  kept  watch 
and  ward  at  the  witch's  castle,  gave  forth  a 
ghostly  "Hoot !  Hoot !"  of  welcome  to  his  mis 
tress.  At  the  unexpected  sound  the  mulatto's 
quivering  knees  collapsed  and  he  sank  down, 
nearly  rolling  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

Sybella  seemed  not  to  feel  the  weight  of  the 
prostrate  man  whom  she  still  clutched  and  hauled 
into  the  dark  interior  of  her  lair. 

Dropping  the  almost  senseless  man,  she  threw 
some  resinous  dry  brus'h  upon  a  fire  that  was 
smouldering  in  the  center  of  the  hut.  As  the 
flame  shot  up  Manuel  opened  his  eyes.  With  a 

81 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


shriek  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  terror  shaking  his 
every  lim'b  as  he  stared  about  him. 

Two  giant  rats  were  tugging  at  some  bone, 
most  human  in  shape ;  each  trying  to  tear  it  from 
the  teeth  of  the  other,  as  squealing  they  circled 
around  the  fire.  In  corners  toads  blinked  their 
bead-like  eyes,  while  darting  lizards  flashed 
across  the  floor.  Slowly  crawling  along  between 
the  unplastered  logs  of  the  walls  snakes  of  many 
colors  moved  about  or  coiled  in  the  thatch  'of  the 
roof  hung  head  downward  and  hissed  as  they 
waved  their  heads  from  side  to  side. 

Along  the  wall  a  bark  shelf  stood.  On  it  were 
two  small  skulls  with  'handles  made  of  cane. 
These  ghastly  vessels  were  filled  with  milk. 
Conch  shells  and  utensil's  made  of  dried  gourds 
were  scattered  on  the  shelf,  among  which  a  huge 
and  ugly  buzzard  stalked  about. 

An  immense  red  drum  hung  from  a  pole  fixed 
in  a  crevice  of  the  rock  and  by  its  side  dangled 
a  long  and  shining  knife.  A  curtain  of  woven 
grass  hanging  at  the  rear  of  the  hovel  seemed 
to  conceal  the  entrance  to  some  cavern  within 
the  hill's  rock-ribbed  breast. 

82 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


When  the  'blaze  of  the  burning  fagots  cast  a 
glow  over  the  grewsome  interior  of  this  temple 
of  Voo  Doo,  Sybella,  the  High  Priestess,  turned 
upon  t'he  cowering  man,  upon  whose  ashy-hued 
face  stood  great  drops  of  ice-cold  sweat,  tearing 
from  her  head  the  scarlet  turban  that  had  hidden 
'her  tare,  deathly  skull,  and  'beckoning  him  with 
'her  skeleton  hand  to  approach,  in  guttural,  hiss 
ing  voice  commanded: 

"Say  over  what  you  told  me  on  the  hill !  Say, 
if  you  dare,  you  dog,  here  in  my  lair  where  Tu 
Konk  dwells,  that  my  daughter's  grandson,  the 
la'st  of  my  blood,  has  mated  with  a  white  cow." 

Benumbed  by  the  dazzling  light  that  poured 
fiom  the  black  pits  in  her  naked,  fleshless  skull, 
the  mulatto  could  not  walk,  but  falling  on  his 
'hands  and  knees  he  moved  toward  her ;  prostrate 
at  her  feet,  overcome  by  fear,  he  whined  faintly: 

"Burton,  Walter  Burton,  married  a  white 
woman  in  Boston  the  twentieth  of  last  month." 

The  hag  grasping  his  ears  drew  his  head  up 
toward  her  face,  and  thrusting  her  terrible  head 
forward  she  plunged  her  gaze  like  sword  points 
down  into  the  man's  very  soul. 

83 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


With  a  cry  like  that  of  a  wounded  wild-cat, 
she  jumped  back  and  throwing  her  skinny  arms 
up  in  the  air  began  waving  them  above  her  head, 
screaming : 

"He  does  not  lie!     It  is  true!     It  is  true!" 

In  impotent  rage  she  dug  the  sharp  nlails  of  her 
fingers  into  the  skin  of  her  bald  head  and  tore 
long  ridges  across  its  smooth  bare  surface. 

Suddenly  she  seized  the  mulatto,  now  half- 
dead  from  terror,  crying: 

"Gome!  Goat  without  horns,  let  us  tell  Tu 
Konk." 

Manuel,  limp,  scarcely  breathing,  staggered  to 
his  feet.  The  'hag  held  him  by  the  bleeding  ears 
that  she  had  half  torn  from  his  head.  Pushing 
him  before  her  they  passed  behind  the  curtain 
suspended  against  the  rock  wall  at  the  rear  of  the 
room. 

The  cave  they  entered  was  of  small  dimen 
sions.  It  was  illuminated  by  four  large  candles, 
which  stood  at  each  of  the  four  corners  of  a 
baby's  cradle.  This  misplaced  article  occupied 
the  center  of  the  space  walled  in  by  the  rocky 
sides  of  the  apartment.  The  place  otherwise  was 
bare. 

84 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Sybella  as  soon  as  the  curtain  fell  behind  her 
6egan  a  monotonous  chant.  Moving  slowly  with 
shuffling  side-long  steps  around  the  cradle,  sang: 

"Awake,  my  Tu  Konk,  awake  and  listen; 

Hear  my  story; 

My  blood  long  gone  to  white  dogs; 

Daughter,  granddaughter,  all  gone  to  white 
dogs ; 

One  drop  left  to  me  now  gone  to  white  cow ; 

Tu  Konk,  Tu  Konk,  awake  and  avenge  me." 

Manuel  saw  something  move  beneath  the  cov 
ering  in  the  cradle. 

"Awake,  Oh!  my  Tu  Konk; 

Awake  and  avenge  me!" 

Manuel  saw  a  black  head  thrust  itself  from 
below  the  cover,  and  rest  upon  the  dainty  pillow 
in  the  cradle.  The  head  was  covered  'by  an  in 
fant's  lacy  cap. 

Sybella  saw  the  head  appear.  Dashing  under 
the  curtain  and  seizing  one  of  the  skull-cups  she 
returned  and  filled  a  nursing  bottle  that  lay  in 
the  cradle. 

The  head  covered  with  its  cap  of  lace  rose 
from  the  pillow.  Sybella,  on  her  knees,  with 

85 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


bowed  head  and  adoring  gestures,  crept  to  the 
•side  of  the  cradle  and  extended  the  bottle.  King 
of  terrors !  By  all  that  is  Horrible ! 

The  nipple  disappeared  in  the  scarlet  flaming 
mouth  of  an  immense,  fiery  eyed,  hissing  black- 
snake.  It  was  Tu  Konk!" 

"Drink,  my  Tu  Konk." 

"Bring  back  my  black  blood." 

"Leave  me  not  childless." 

"Curse  then  the  white  cow." 

"Send  'her  the  black  goat." 

"Give  her  black  kids." 

"Black  kids  and  white  teats." 

"Serve  thus  the  white  caw." 

Chanting  these  words,  the  Voo  Doo  priestess 
struck  her  head  repeatedly  upon  the  hard  surface 
of  the  floor  of  the  cave.  Blood  ran  down  her 
face  to  mingle  with  tbe  froth  that  dropped  from 
her  shriveled  and  distorted  lips. 

The  mulatto  with  bursting,  straining  eye-balls 
and  chattering  teeth  gasped  for  breath.  The 
hideous  grotesqueness  of  the  scene  had  frozen  the 
very  life-blood  in  his  veins.  The  vestments  of 
an  angel  adorning  a  fiend!  Paralyzed  by  fear, 

86 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


with  bulging  eyes  nearly  popping  from  their 
sockets,  the  man  stared  at  the  horrible  head  sur 
rounded  by  those  trappings  most  closely  associ 
ated  with  innocence. 

Human  nature  could  stand  no  more!  With 
one  frenzied  shriek  Manuel  broke  the  spell  that 
'held  him  helpless.  Tearing  aside  the  curtain  he 
leaped  out  of  this  Temple  of  Terrors;  heedless 
of  tihe  danger  of  plunging  over  the  precipice  he 
raced  along  the  treacherous  path  nor  paused  for 
breath  until  miles  intervened  between  Tu  Konk, 
Sybella  and  himself. 


VI. 

NO  SOCIAL  event  of  the  season  equalled 
the  Burton-Dunlaip  wedding.  For 
weeks  prior  to  the  date  of  the  ceremony 
it  bad1  been  the  one  all-engrossing  theme  of  con 
versation  with  everybody :  that  is,  everybody  who 
was  anybody,  in  the  metropolis  of  the  Old  Bay 
State. 

The  immense  settlement,  the  magnificent  gifts, 
the  exquisite  trousseau  from  Paris,  the  surpass 
ing  beauty  of  the  bride,  the  culture  and  accom 
plishments  of  the  handsome  groom,  the  exalted 
position  of  the  Dunlap  family,  these  formed  tine 
almost  exclusive  topics  of  Boston's  most  exclu 
sive  set  for  many  weeks  before  the  wedding. 

What  a  grand  church  wedding  it  was!  The 
church  was  a  perfect  mass  of  flowers  and  plants 
of  the  rarest  and  most  expensive  kind.  The 
music  graindissimo  beyond  expression.  A  bishop 
assisted  by  two  clergymen  performed  the  cere- 

88 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


mony.  The  bride,  a  dream  of  loveliness  in  lace, 
satin  and  orange  blossoms ;  the  groom  a  model 
of  grace  and  chivalry ;  the  tiny  maids,  earth-born 
angels ;  the  ushers  Boston's  bluest  blooded  scions 
of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  finally  everybody 
who  was  anybody  was  there. 

And  the  reception !  The  Dunlap  mansion  and 
grounds  were  resplendent  in  a  blaze  of  light ;  the 
beauty,  talent,  wealth  and  great  names  of  New 
England  were  gathered  there  to  congratulate  the 
happy  bride,  Dunlap's  heiress,  and  the  fortunate 
groom. 

"A  most  appropriate  match!  How  fortunate 
for  all  concerned !  How  delightful  for  the  two 
old  gentlemen!"  declared  everybody  who  was 
anybody. 

Four  special  policemen  guarded  the  glittering 
array  of  almost  priceless  wedding  presents;  in 
the  splendid  refreshment  room:,  brilliant  in  glit 
tering  glass  and  silver,  Boston's  best  and  gentlest 
pledged  the  happy  bride  and  groom  in  many  a 
glass  of  rarest  wine  and  wished  long  life  and 
{happiness  to  that  charming,  well-mated  pair. 

The  bride,  radiant  in  her  glorious  beauty,  re- 

89 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


jecting  as  adornment  for  this  occasion,  diamond 
necklace  and  tiara,  gifts  of  the  groom,  selected 
a  simple  coil  of  snowy  pearls. 

"The  gift  of  my  Cousin  Jack,"  she  proudly 
sa'id.  "My  earliest  lover  and  most  steadfast 
friend." 

The  savings  of  years  of  sailor  life  had  been 
expended  ungrudingly  to  lay  this  tribute  of  love 
on  that  fair  bosom. 

How  well  assured  was  the  future  of  this  for 
tunate  couple!  The  prospect  stretched  before 
tihem  like  one  long,  joyous  journey  of  uninter 
rupted  bliss.  Life's  pathway  all  lined  with  thorn- 
Jess  roses  beneath  summer's  smiling  sky. 

Naught  seemed  lacking  to  make  assurance  of 
the  future  doubly  sure.  Youth,  health,  wealth, 
social  position,  culture,  refinement,  intelligence, 
amiability. 

Soft  strains  of  music  floated  on  the  perfumed 
air,  bright  eyes  "spake  love  to  eyes  that  spake 
again,"  midst  palms  and  in  flower-garlanded  re 
cesses  gentle  voices  whispered  words  of  love  to 
willing  ears ;  in  the  center  of  this  unalloyed  bliss- 
fulness  were  Burton  and  his  bride. 

90 


"Old  bachelors  are  as  excitable  concerning 
marriage  as  old  spinsters  can  possibly  be.  See 
Mr.  John  Dunlap,  how  flushed  and  nervous  he 
seems !  He  hovers  about  the  bride  like  an  anx 
ious  mother !"  So  said  two  elderly  grand-dames 
'behind  their  fans  while  watching  the  group  about 
Burton's  fair  young  wife. 

Among  that  gay  and  gallant  company  moved 
one  restless  figure  and  peering  face.  David 
Chapman,  leaving  his  sister,  Miss  Arabella, 
under  the  protecting  care  of  Mrs.  Church,  lest 
during  the  confusion  of  so  large  a  gathering, 
some  daring  cavalier,  enamored  of  'her  maiden- 
charms,  should  elope  with  the  guileless  creature, 
mingled  with  the  throng  of  guests,  unobtrusive, 
but  ever  vigilant  and  watchful. 

Chapman's  countenance  bore  an  odd  expres 
sion,  a  mixture  of  satisfied  curiosity,  vindictive- 
ness  and  regret. 

That  very  day  a  superannuated  sailor  who  for 
years  had  served  the  house  of  Dunlap,  and  now 
acted  as  ship-keeper  for  vessels  in  its  employ, 
called  to  report  to  the  superintendent  some 
trifling  loss.  Before  leaving  'he  asked  respect 
fully,  knuckling  his  forehead. 

91 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Is  the  manager  gain'  to  marry  ter'day?" 

"Yes;  Why?"  said  Chapman  sharply. 

"Nothin'  'cept  I've  often  seen  his  mother  and 
took  notice  of  him  'here,"  replied  the  man. 

"Where  did!  you  see  Mr.  Burton's  mother? 
Who  was  she?"  Chapman  asked  eagerly  in  his 
keen  way. 

"In  Port  au  Prince,  mor'n  twenty-five  year 
er'go.  She  was  Ducros',  the  sugar  planter's 
darter,  and  the  puttiest  quadroon  I  ever  seen. 
Yea,  the  puttiest  woman  of  any  kind  I  ever  seen," 
answered  the  old  ship-keeper  in  a  reminiscent 
tone. 

Chapman's  eyes  fairly  sparkled'  with  pleasure 
as  he  thus  secured  a  clew  for  future  investiga 
tion,  but  without  asking  other  questions  he  dis 
missed  the  retired  seaman.  It  was  this  infor 
mation  that  gave  to  his  face  that  singular  expres 
sion  during  the  reception. 

A  private  palace  car  stood  on  the  track  in  the 
station  waiting  for  the  coming  of  the  bridal 
party.  Naught  less  than  a  special  train  could 
be  considered  when  it  was  decided  that  Florida 
should  be  the  favored  spot  wfiere  the  wealthy 

92 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Haitien  and  his  bride,  the  Dunlap  heiress,  would 
spend  their  honeymoon. 

Soft  and  balmy  are  the  breezes,  that  pouring 
through  the  open  windows  of  the  car,  flood  the 
interior  with  odors  of  pine  cones  and  orange 
blooms,  as  Burton's  special  train  speeds  through 
the  Flower  State  of  the  Union. 

The  car  is  decked  with  the  fresh  and  gorgeous 
blossoms  of  this  snowless  land ;  yet  of  all  the  fair 
est  is  that  sweet  bud  that  rests  on  Burton's 
breast. 

"Walter,  how  sweet  is  life  when  one  loves  and 
is  beloved,"  said  Burton's  young  wife  dreamily, 
raising  her  head  from  his  'breast  and  gazing 
fondly  into  her  husband's  eyes. 

"Yes,  love,  life  then  is  heaven  on  earth,  sweet 
wife,"  whispered  the  husband  clasping  closely 
the  yielding  figure  in  his  arms. 

"I  am  so  happy,  dearest  Walter,  I  love  you  so 
•dearly,"  murmured  Lucy  clinging  still  closer  to 
her  lover. 

"You  will  always  love  me  thus,  I  hope,  my 
'darling,"  said  Walter,  as  he  kissed  the  white 
forehead  of  his  bride. 

93 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Of  course  I  shall,  my  own  dear  husband," 
answered  unhesitatingly  the  happy,  trusting 
woman. 

"Could  nothing,  no  matter  what,  however  un 
expected  and  unforeseen,  shake  your  faith  in  me, 
or  take  from  me  that  love  I  hold  so  sacred  and 
so  dear?"  asked  Burton  earnestly,  pressing  his 
wife  to  his  heart. 

"Nothing  could  alter  my  love  for  you,  my  hus 
band,"  answered  Lucy  quickly,  as  she  raised  her 
'head  and  kissed  him. 

The  special  train  slows  up  at  a  small  station. 
Put  on  breaks !  The  whistle  calls,  and  the  train 
stops  until  the  dispatcher  can  get  a  "clear  track" 
message  from  the  next  station. 

The  crowd  of  negroes,  male  and  female,  large 
and  small,  stare  with  wondering  admiration  at 
the  beautiful  being  who  appears  on  the  rear  plat 
form  of  the  car  accompanied  by  such  a  perfect 
Adonis  of  a  man. 

Lucy  Burton  was  an  object  not  likely  to  escape 
attention.  Her  full  round  form,  slender,  yet 
molded  into  most  delicious  curves,  was  shown  to 
perfection  by  the  tight-fitting  traveling  gown  of 

94 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


some  kind  of  soft  stuff  that  she  wore ;  her  happy, 
beautiful  face,  bright  with  the  love-light  in  her 
hazel  eyes,  presented  a  picture  calculated  to  cause 
even  the  most  fastidious  to  stare.  To  the  ignor 
ant  black  people  she  was  a  revelation  of  loveli 
ness. 

As  the  negroes,  in  opened-mouthed  wonder, 
came  closer  and  clustered  about  the  steps  of  the 
car,  their  great  eyes  wide  and  white,  Lucy  drew 
back  a  little  and  somewhat  timidly  slipped  her 
hand  into  her  husband's,  whispering: 

"I  am  afraid  of  them,  they  are  so  black  and 
shocking  with  their  rolling  eyes  and  thick  lips." 

"Nonsense!  sweetheart,"  said  Walter  with  a 
laugh  not  all  together  spontaneous. 

"They  are  a  merry,  gentle  folk,  gay  and  good- 
natured;  the  Southern  people  would  have  no 
other  nurses  for  their  babies.  I  thought  New 
England  people  had  long  since  ceased  to  notice 
the  color  of  mankind's  skin. 

"But,  Walter,  how  horrid  they  are!  We  see 
so  few  of  them  in  New  England  that  they  don't 
seem  like  these.  How  dreadfully  black  and  bru 
tal  they  are.  Let  us  go  inside,  I  really  am 

95 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


afraid !"  cried  Lucy  in  a  low  voice  and  scarted 
to  retreat. 

At  that  moment  a  tall  and  very  black  woman 
who  held  a  baby  at  her  breast,  negro-like,  car 
ried  away  by  thoughtless  good  nature  and  ad 
miration  for  the  lovely  stranger,  raised  her  ink- 
colored  picaninny,  and  in  motherly  pride  thrust 
it  forward  until  its  little  wooly  black  head  almost 
touched  Lucy's  bosom. 

With  one  glance  of  loathing,  terror  and  un 
concealed  horror  at  the  object  resting  nearly  on 
her  breast,  Lucy  gave  a  scream  of  fear  and  fled. 
Throwing  herself  on  one  of  the  settees  in  the  car 
she  buried  her  face  among  the  cushions  and  wept 
solely  from  fright  and  nervousness. 

"Why!  sweetheart,  what  is  the  matter?  There 
is  nothing  to  fear.  Those  poor  people  were  only 
admiring  you,  my  darling,"  cried  Burton  hurry 
ing  to  his  young  wife's  side  and  seeking  to  quiet 
her  fears. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Walter,  all  those  black  faces 
crowded  together  near  to  me  was  awful,  and  that 
dreadful  little  black  thing  almost  touched  me," 
sobbed  Lucy  nervously. 

96 


BLOOD  WILL   TELL 


"Darling,  the  dreadful  little  black  thing  was 
only  a  harmless  baby,"  replied  the  husband  sooth 
ingly. 

"Baby!"  cried  the  astonished  young  woman, 
lifting  her  head  from  the  cushions  and  regard 
ing  her  companion  through  her  undried  tears 
with  doubt,  as  if  suspecting  him  of  joking. 
"I  thought  it  was  an  ape  or  some  hideous  little 
imp !  Baby !"  and  seeing  that  there  was  no  joke 
about  what  her  husband  said,  she  added: 

"I  didn't  know  negroes  looked  like  that  when 
babies.  I  would  not  touch  that  loathsome,  hor 
rid  thing  for  worlds.  It  made  my  flesh  fairly 
quiver  to  see  it  even  near  me." 

Walter  Burton  succeeded  in  allaying  the  alarm 
of  his  wife  only  after  the  train  had  resumed  its 
rapid  journey  southward.  When  Lucy,  lulled  to 
sleep  by  the  low  music  of  the  guitar  which  he 
played  to  distract  her  attention  from  the  unpleas 
ant  recollection,  no  longer  demanded  his  presence, 
Burton  sought  the  smoking-room  of  the  car  and 
passed  an  hour  in  solemn,  profound  meditation, 
as  'he  puffed  continuously  fragrant  Havanas. 

"I  was  wrong !  She  did  not  know.  Now  she 

97 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


never  shall  if  I  can  prevent  it."     Such  were  the 
words  of  Lucy's  husband  when  throwing  away 

his  cigar  he  arose  to  rejoin  his  young  wife. 
*****  #  # 

Many  hundred  miles  from  flowery  Florida 
across  a  watery  way,  a  ship  was  wildly  tossing 
upon  an  angry,  sullen  sea.  For  three  days  and 
nights  with  ceaseless  toil,  in  constant  danger,  the 
weary  crew  had  battled  with  howling  winds  and 
tempestuous  waves. 

A  storm;  of  awe-inspiring  fury  had  burst  upon 
the  good  ship  "Adams,"  of  Boston,  bound  for 
Melbourne,  on  the  night  of  December  the  nine 
teenth  in  that  good  year  of  our  Lord. 

The  superb  seamanship  of  the  skipper,  com 
bined  with  the  prompt  alacrity  of  the  willing 
crew,  alone  saved  the  ship  from  adding  her 
broken  frame  to  that  countless  multitude  which 
rest  beneath  the  waves. 

The  wind  was  still  blowing  a  gale,  but  there 
was  perceptibly  less  force  in  it,  as  shrieking  it 
tore  through  the  rigging  and  against  the  almost 
bare  masts,  than  there  had  been  in  three  days. 

Two  men  stood  in  the  cabin,  enveloped  in  oil- 

98 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


skins,  with  rubber  boots  reaching  above  their 
knees.  Their  eyes  were  red  from  wind 
and  watching,  while  they  answered  the 
'heave  of  the  Jhip  wearily  as  if  worn  out  with  the 
excessive  labor  of  the  last  seventy-two  hours. 
•The  men  were  the  two  mates  of  the  "Adams." 
The  captain  had  sent  them  below  for  a  glass  of 
grog  and  a  biscuit.  There  had  been  no  fire  in 
the  galley  for  the  three  days  that  the  storm  had 
beaten  upon  the  ship. 

"The  skipper  must  be  made  of  iron,"  said  the 
shorter  man,  Morgan,  the  second  officer. 

"He  has  hardly  left  the  deck  a  minute  since  the 
squall  strudk  us,  and  he  is  as  quick  and  strong 
as  a  shark,"  he  continued,  munching  on  the  bis 
cuit  and  balancing  himself  carefully  as  he  raised 
his  glass  of  grog. 

"Every  inch  a  sailor  is  the  skipper,"  growled 
the  larger  man  hoarsely. 

"Sailed  with  Captain  Dunlap  in  the  'Lucy/ 
and  no  better  master  ever  trod  a  quarter-deck," 
added  Mr.  Brioe,  the  first  officer  of  the  "Adams." 

"He  surely  knows  his  business  and  handles  the 
ship  with  the  ease  a  Chinaman  does  his  chop- 

99 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


sticks,  but  he's  the  surliest,  most  silent  skipper 
I  ever  sailed  with.  You  told  us,  Mr.  Brice,  when 
you  came  aboard  that  lie  was  the  jolliest;  was 
he  like  this  when  you  were  with  him  on  the 
'Lucy'?"  said  the  second  mate  inquiringly. 

"No,  he  wasn't!"  mum'bled  old  Brice  in  an 
swer. 

"Somethin'  went  wrong  with  him  ashore,"  add 
ing  angrily  as  he  turned  and  glared  at  his  young 
companion. : 

"But  'tis  none  of  your  blamed  business  or  mine 
neither  what's  up  with  the  skipper;  you  didn't 
ship  for  society,  did  you  ?" 

"That's  right  enough,  Mr.  Brice,  but  I  tell  you 
what  'tis,  the  men  think  the  captain  a  little  out 
of  trim  in  the  sky-sail.  They  say  he  walks  about 
ship  at  night  like  a  ghost  and  does  queer  things. 
Second1  day  of  the  storm,  the  twentieth,  in  the 
evening,  while  it  was  blowing  great  guns  and 
ship  pitching  like  she'd  stick  her  nose  under  for 
ever,  I  was  standin'  by  to  help  Collins  at  the 
wheel ;  we  see  the  skipper  come  staggering  along 
aft  balancing  himself  careful  as  a  rope  walker 
an  a  hold  in'  a  glass  of  wine  in  his  hand.  When 

100 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


he  gets  to  the  rail  at  the  stern  he  holds  up  high 
the  glass  and  talks  to  wind,  Davy  Jones  or  some- 
thin',  drinks  the  wine  and  hurls  the  glass  to  hell 
and  gone  into  the  sea.  How's  that,  mate?  Col 
lins  looks  at  me  and  shakes  his  head,  and  I  feels 
creepy  myself." 

For  a  minute  Brice,  with  red  and  angry  eyes, 
stared  at  the  second  mate,  then  he  burst  out  in  a 
roar: 

"I'll  knock  the  head  off  'er  Collins,  and  marlin 
spike  the  rest  'er  the  bloomin'  sea  lawyers  in  the 
for  castle  if  I  catch  them  talkin'  erbout  the  skip 
per,  and  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Second  Mate,  you  keep 
your  mouth  well  shut  or  you'll  get  such  'er  keel 
•haulm'  you  won't  fergit.  Captain  Dunlap  is  no 
man  to  projec'k  with  and  he's  mighty  rough  in 
er  shindy." 

With  that  closing  admonition  the  first  officer 
turned  and  climbed  the  reeling  stairs  that  led  to 
the  deck.  As  he  emerged  from  the  companion- 
way  a  great  wave  struck  the  side  of  ship  heeling 
her  over  and  hurling  the  mate  against  the  man 
who  had  formed  the  topic  of  discussion  in  the 
cabin  below. 

101 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


The  skipper  was  wet  to  the  skin;  he  had 
thrown  aside  'his  oil-skins  to  enable  him  to  move 
more  nimbly,  his  face  was  worn,  drawn  and  al 
most  of  leaden  hue.  Deep  lines  and  the  dark 
circles  around  his  eyes  told  a  story  of  loss  of 
sleep,  fatigue  and  anxiety.  How  much  of  this 
was  due  to  an  aching  pain  in  the  heart  only  Him 
to  whom  all  things  are  revealed  could  know. 

Morgan's  story  was  true.  He  had  described 
when,  'how  and  under  what  conditions  Jack  had 
pledged  Lucy  in  a  glass  of  wine  on  her  wedding 
day,  praying  God  to  send  blessings  and  happiness 
to  his  lost  love. 

Sing  sweet  modking  birds !  Shine  genial  sun! 
Bloom  fairest  flowers  of  Sunny  Florida!  Bliss 
be  thine,  loved  Lucy !  Dream  not  of  the  ocean's 
angry  roar!  The  tempest's  cruel  blast! 


1 02 


VII. 

I  REALLY  can  hardly  realize,  grand 
father,  that  I  have  been  married  one 
year  and  that  today  is  the  anniversary 
of  my  wedding,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Walter  Burton 
to  'her  grandfather,  as  lingering  over  a  late  break 
fast,  they  chatted  in  a  desultory  manner  on  many 
subjects. 

The  breakfast-room  of  the  Dunlap  mansion 
was  one  of  the  prettiest  apartments  in  the  house ; 
'bright  and  airy,  with  great  windows  reaching 
from  ceiling  to  floor,  which  flooded  the  place  with 
sunslhine  and  cheerfulness  this  brilliant  snowy 
New  England  morning. 

Surely  it  had  been  difficult  to  find  anything 
prettier  than  the  young  matron  who  presided 
over  the  sparkling  service  with  the  grace  of  the 
school-girl  still  visible  notwithstanding  the  re 
cently  assumed  dignity  of  wife. 

Lucy  Burton's  face  and  form  possessed  that 

103 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


rare  quality  of  seeming  always  displayed  to  best 
advantage  in  the  last  costume  she  wore.  Nothing 
could  be  more  becoming  than  the  lace-trimmed 
breakfast  gown  of  a  clinging  silky,  pink  fabric 
worn  by  her  this  morning. 

The  tete-a-tete  between  grandfather  and 
granddaughter  each  morning  over  the  breakfast- 
table  was  an  established  and,  to  both,  a  cherished 
custom  that  had  grown  up  since  Lucy's  mar 
riage. 

Mr.  James  Dunlap  carried  his  seventy-three 
years  as  lightly  as  many  men  of  less  rugged  con 
stitutions  carry  fifty.  His  was  a  fresh,  healthy, 
'kindly  old  face,  the  white  hair  resting  like  the 
snow  on  some  Alpine  peak  served  but  to  heighten 
the  charm  of  those  goodly  features  below. 

"A  year  to  young  people  means  very  little,  I 
judge,  daughter,  but  we  old  folk  regard  it  differ 
ently.  You  have  been  away  from  me  during  the 
last  year  so  much  that  old  man  as  I  am,  the  time 
has  dragged,"  the  grandfather  replied  laying 
aside  his  morning  paper  and  adjusting  his  glasses 
that  he  might  see  better  the  pretty  face  across 
the  table. 

104 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Now,  that  I  look  at  you,  my  dear,  apparently 
you  have  not  aged  to  any  alarming  extent  since 
you  have  become  a  matron,"  jocosely  added  the 
old  gentleman,  his  eyes  beaming  lovingly  on  his 
granddaughter. 

"I  may  not  show  it,  still  I  have  my  troubles." 
Lucy's  attempt  to  wrinkle  her  smooth  brow  and 
draw  down  the  corners  of  her  sweet  mouth  while 
she  tried  to  muster  up  a  sigh  was  so  ridiculous 
that  her  companion  began  to  laugh. 

"Don't  laugh  at  me,  grandfather ;  it's  unkind," 
cried  Lucy,  with  the  childish  manner  that  still 
crept  out  when  alone  with  him  who  had  been  both 
father  and  mother  to  her. 

"Very  well,  deary,  I  shall  not  laugh.  Tell  me 
of  those  dire  troubles  that  afflict  you,"  rejoined 
her  still  smiling  grandfather. 

"Well!  now  there  is  Walter,  obliged  to  run 
away  so  early  to  that  horrid  old  office  that  I  never 
see  him  at  the  breakfast-table,"  began  the  young 
creature  with  pretty  pettishness. 

"Sad!  indeed  sad!"  said  Mr.  Dunlap  in  af 
fected  sorrow.  "A  gay  young  couple  attend 
some  social  function  or  the  theatre  nightly  and 

105 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


are  up  late;  the  unfortunate  young  husband  is 
obliged  to  be  at  his  office  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning  to  save  an  old  man  of  seventy  odd  from 
routine  labor;  the  young  wife  who  is  fond  of  a 
morning  nap  must  breakfast  alone,  save  the  com 
panionship  of  an  old  fogy  of  a  grandfather ;  'tis 
the  saddest  situation  I  ever  heard  of." 

The  laughter  in  the  old  gentleman's  throat 
gurgled  like  good  wine  poured  for  welcome  guest 
as  Lucy  puckered  up  her  lips  at  him. 

"Then  that  hateful  old  'Eyrie.'  When  we  were 
married  and  you  insisted  that  we  should  live  here 
with  you,  which,  of  course,  I  expected  to  do,  I 
thought  Walter  would  sell  or  lease  that  lonely 
bachelor  dlen  of  his,  but  he  has  done  no  such 
thing ;  says  he  keeps  up  the  establishment  for  the 
sake  of  the  conservatory,  which  is  the  finest  in 
the  State,"  proceeded  the  wife  ruefully  recount 
ing  her  alleged  woes. 

"Walter  speaks  truly  concerning  the  conserva 
tory  at  the  'Eyrie.'  Mr.  Foster  Agnew,  who  is 
authority  on  the  subject,  says  that  he  has  never 
seen  a  finer  collection  of  rare  and  beautiful  plants 
and  flowers  in  any  private  conservatory  in  this 

1 06 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


counry,"  replied  Mr.  Dunlap  in  defense  of  Bur 
ton's  action  in  maintaining  his  former  home. 

"Yes,  but  there  is  no  reason  for  Walter's  run 
ning  up  there  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  and  some 
times  even  staying  there  all  night,  telling  me  that 
he  is  anxious  about  the  temperature;  that  Leo 
pold  may  fall  asleep  or  neglect  something.  I 
hate  that  miserable  conservatory,"  rejoined  Lucy 
with  flushed  face  and  flashing  eyes. 

"Oh!  Pshaw!  you  exacting  little  witch!  You 
are  fearfully  neglected  by  reason  of  the  'Eyrie's' 
conservatory,  are  you?  Now,  let  me  see.  You 
were  in  Florida  and  California  two  months  of 
the  last  year,  and  in  Europe  four  more,  leaving 
just  six  months  that  you  have  spent  in  Boston 
since  your  mamage.  I  suppose  Walter  has  spent 
a  half  dozen  nights  at  the  'Eyrie.'  Great  tribula 
tion  and  trial,"  rejoined  the  amused  grandfather. 

"Well,  but  Walter  knows  I  don't  like  his  going 
there  at  night.  Something  might  happen  to 
him,"  persisted  Lucy,  woman-like  seizing  any 
'argument  to  gain  her  point. 

"As  Princess  Lucy  does  not  'like  it,  she  thinks 
that  should  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  visits 

107 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


to  the  'Eyrie'  at  night  *o  cease.  Being  accus 
tomed  to  that  humble  and  abject  obedience  ren 
dered  to  her  slightest  wish  by  the  old  slaves  John 
and  James,  and  the  young  slave,  Jack  Dunlap. 
Is  that  it,  Princess  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman  mak 
ing  a  'mocking  salaam  to  'Her  Highness'  as  he 
sometimes  called  his  pretty  vis-a-vis. 

"Stop  making  fun  of  me,  grandfather;  I  think 
you  are  really  unkind.  I  never  made  slaves  of 
you  and  Uncle  John  and  good  old  Jack.  Did  I 
now?" 

Lucy  Burton  surely  was  a  beauty.  Small  won 
der  that  the  Dun'lap  men,  old  and  young,  loved 
her  long  before  Walter  Burton  came  to  win  her. 
She  looked  so  pretty  as  she  asked  the  last  ques 
tion  that  her  grandfather  held  out  his  hands  and 
said : 

"Come  here,  my  dear,  and  kiss  me.  I  forgive 
you  if  you  'have  been  an  exacting  ruler."  When 
Lucy  settled  herself  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  as 
some  graceful  bird  of  gay  plumage  perches  itself 
on  a  twig,  the  fine  old  face  was  filled  with  ten 
derness  and  love  as  he  kissed  her. 

Lucy  passed  her  soft  white  arm  around  her 

1 08 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


grandfather's    neck,    and    resting    her    dimpled 
cheek  on  his  snowy  head,  she  said  seriously: 

"That  is  not  all  of  my  reason  for  disliking  the 
'Eyrie.'  You  'know,  grandfather,  I  should  not 
discuss  my  husband  with  any  one  other  than 
yourself,  so  this  is  a  secret ;  I  have  noticed  that 
whenever  Walter  makes  an  all-night  visit  to  the 
'Eyrie'  that  the  trip  is  preceded  by  an  outburst 
of  unusual  hilarity  on  his  part ;  in  fact,  on  such 
occasions  I  am  almost  annoyed '  by  something 
nearly  undignified  in  Walter's  demeanor;  he 
seems  as  thoughtless  as  a  child,  says  and  does 
things  thait  are  ridiculous  and  silly." 

"Tut,  tut,  child,  you  have  a  very  vivid  imagi 
nation,  and  are  so  anxious  for  everyone  to  regard 
your  husband  with  the  exaggerated  admiration 
that  you  have  for  him,  that  you  are  allowing 
yourself  to  become  hypercritic,  my  pet,"  re 
joined  Mr.  Dunlap  reassuringly. 

"No,  grandfather,  you  are  mistaken.  I  not 
alone  notice  something  peculiar  about  Walter's 
periodical  outbursts  of  unseemly  mirth;  I  see 
others  regard  with  surprise  this  departure  from 
his  customary  reposeful  dignity,"  insisted  the 

109 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


young  wife  earnestly  with  a  note  of  indignation 
in  her  voice  when  speaking  of  others  observing 
any  thing  strange  in  the  conduct  of  her  husband. 

"Oh !  nonsense,  Lucy,  all  young  men  occasion 
ally  cast  aside  dignity.  In  the  fullness  of  youth 
and  vigor  they  become  now  and  again  fairly  exu 
berant  with  happiness  and  forget  all  about  the 
conventionalities  of  society.  I  have  seen  nothing 
about  Walter  in  that  particular  different  from 
other  young  men.  Don't  make  yourself  wretched 
over  nothing,  little  girl." 

"Possibly  I  observe  my  husband  with  more 
attention  than  anyone  else,  even  than  you,  grand 
father,  for  I  certainly  perceive  a  great  differenti 
ation  between  Walter's  spasmodic  mirth  and  sim 
ilar  exhibitions  by  other  men.  Walter  seems 
different  in  many  ways  that  mystify  me.  On 
every  occasion  that  he  remains  all  night  at  the 
'Eyrie,'  after  a  display  of  this  extraordinary  and 
'boyish  merriment,  he  returns  home  the  next  day 
with  broad  dark  circles  around  his  eyes,  and  is 
in  a  most  depressed  state  of  spirits,"  said  the 
young  wife,  with  real  anxiety  revealed  in  the 
tone  of  her  voice. 

no 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Well,  really,  daughter,  if  you  are  anxious 
concerning  what  you  say,  I  shall  observe  Walter 
more  closely.  He  may  be  over  exerting  himself 
by  the  late  hours  that  he  keeps  in  your  company, 
and  the  detail  work  that  he  has  taken  off  my 
hands.  However,  just  as  a  venture,  I  will  wager 
a  box  of  gloves  against  a  kiss,  deary,  that  Walter 
does  not  appear  in  the  condition  you  have  de 
scribed  this  evening,  notwithstanding  that  he 
passed  last  night  at  the  'Eyrie'  and  was  markedly 
mirthful  during  last  evening,"  said  Lucy's  grand 
father,  passing  his  arm  around  her  slim  waist  and 
drawing  his  anxious  girl  to  his  heart. 

"I  am  glad  you  mentioned  last  evening,  for  I 
wish  to  speak  of  something  I  noticed  during  the 
serving  of  dinner  and  afterward.  Who  was  that 
old  gentleman  whom  you  introduced  as  Pro 
fessor  Charlton?"  said  the  young  woman  inter 
rogatively. 

"Oh,  that  is  my  old  friend  and  fellow  classmate 
when  we  were  at  Harvard.  He  is  a  Georgian 
and  is  Dean  of  the  Georgia  University  and  one 
of  the  most  learned  ethnologists  in  the  world.  He 
is  here  to  consult  with  Professor  Wright  of  Har- 

iii 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


vard  concerning  a  forthcoming  book  on  which 
Charlton  has  been  engaged  for  years.  Now,  that 
I  have  answered  fully,  why  were  you  curious 
about  that  old  book- worm  and  chum  of  mine,  my 
pretty  inquisitor?" 

"Simply  because  he  seemed  perfectly  fasci 
nated  by  my  husband.  He  appeared  unable  to 
remove  his  gaze  from  him  even  when  addressed 
by  you  or  any  one  else.  He  would  peer  at  him 
over  his  glasses,  then  raise  his  head  and  inspect 
Walter  through  them  just  as  botanists  do  when 
they  come  upon  some  rare  plant." 

"By  Jove!  What  next  will  that  brown  head 
of  your's  conjure  up  to  worry  over?  Are  you 
jealous  of  old  Charlton's  admiring  glances?  If 
he  were  a  pretty  woman  I  might  understand,  but 
old  Cobb  Charlton.  We'll!  I  am  prepared  for 
anything,  my  pet,  so  go  ahead.  What  about 
those  glances  seen  by  your  watchful  eyes?"  said 
her  grandfather,  chuckling  over  some  farcical 
suggestion  in  connection  with  old  Professor 
Thos.  Cobb  Charlton. 

"Yes,  but  they  were  not  admiring  glances,  and 
I  didn't  say  so.  They  were  studious,  scrutiniz- 

112 


passed  her  soft,  white  arm  around 
her  grandfather's  neck." 


Page  108 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ing,  investigating,  and  I  thought,  insulting,"  in 
dignantly  replied  Lucy. 

"Ah !  Now  we  are  called  upon  to  criticise  the 
quality  and  kind  of  glance  with  which  an  old 
student  may  regard  a  gay  young  fellow  who  is 
rattling  gleefully  through  a  somewhat  tedious 
dinner,"  said  Mr.  Dunlap  in  an  amused  manner. 

"You  may  laugh  at  me,  grandfather,  as  much 
as  you  please,  but  Walter  was  made  so  nervous 
and  uncomfortable  by  that  old  fellow's  discon 
certing  scrutiny  that  he  acted  almost  silly.  I 
have  never  seen  him  quite  so  ridiculously  merry. 
That  old  Professor  squinted  even  at  Walter's 
handis,  as  if  he  wished  for  a  microscope  to  exam 
ine  themi,  and  after  dinner  while  Walter  was 
singing  he  edged  up  near  the  piano  and  peered 
down  Walter's  throat,  listening  intently  as  if  to 
catch  some  peculiar  note  for  which  he  was  wait 
ing,  all  the  time  with  his  old  head  on  one  side 
like  an  ugly  owl,"  said  the  exasperated  young 
woman. 

Lucy's  description  of  his  old  college  friend 
and  her  manner  of  setting  forth  his  idiosyncra- 
cies  was  too  much  for  James  Dunlap's  risibility. 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


He  threw  back  his  head  and  incontinently 
laughed  in  his  granddaughter's  pretty  flushed 
face. 

"Oh !  my,  Oh !  my !  How  old  Cobb  would  en 
joy  this!  My  dearest,  old  Cobb  Charlton  is  the 
jolliest,  most  amiable  fellow  on  earth.  He  would 
not  wound  the  sensibilities  of  a  street-dog,  and 
is  one  of  the  best  bred  gentlemen  alive.  Oh !  my, 
Lucy!  You'll  be  the  death  of  me  yet  with  your 
whimsical  notions,"  cried  the  fine  old  fellow  lean 
ing  back  in  his  chair,  shaking  with  laughter. 

"Wel'l,  I  don't  care;  it  is  just  as  I  said,  for 
finally,  he  seemed  to  discover  something  about 
Walter  for  which  he  had  been  seeking.  I  saw  a 
self-satisfied  smile  steal  over  his  face  as  he 
nodded  'his  bushy  white  head.  Then  he  stared 
at  you  as  if  amazed,  and  then,  if  I  be  not  blind 
and  I  don't  think  that  I  am,  he  had  the  imperti 
nence  to  look  at  me  with,  actually,  pity  in  his 
•big,  staring  black  eyes,"  retorted  Lucy  angrily 
as  she  recalled  the  events  of  the  previous  even 
ing. 

"Imagination,  pure  and  simple!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Dunlap,  continuing  to  laugh,  enjoying  huge 
ly  Lucy's  anger. 

114 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Charlton  was  possibly  thinking  about  some 
thing  connected  with  his  favorite  science  and 
probably  did  not  even  see  us  while  apparently 
he  was  casting  about  those  peculiar  glances  that 
you  depict  so  vividly." 

"Even  so,  I  think  it  ill-bred  and  unkind  in  him 
to  make  my  husband  the  subject  of  a  study  in 
ethnology." 

"Ah!"  gasped  her  grandfather,  as  though  a 
sudden  pain  had  struck  his  heart.  Some  new 
idea  had  flashed  upon  his  brain,  the  laughter  van 
ished  from  lips  and  the  color  from  his  face.  He 
straightened  up  in  his  chair  while  a  look  of  anx 
iety  replaced  the  merriment  that  had  sparkled  in 
his  eyes. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  grandfather  ?"  cried 
Lucy  in  undisguised  alarm  at  the  change  in  'his 
countenance. 

"Nothing,  my  d'arling,  it  will  pass  away. 
Please  hand  me  a  glass  of  water,"  the  old  man 
answered. 

Lucy  hastened  to  fill  a  glass  with  water  and 
while  she  was  so  engaged  Mr.  Dunlap  struggled 
to  master  some  emotion  that  had  caused  the  sud- 

'      H5 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


den  departure  of  all  his  jocoseness  of  the  moment 
before  she  said  that  'her  husband  had  been  made 
a  subject  of  a  study  in  ethnology. 

"I  am'  better  now,  thank  you,  dear ;  it  was  just 
a  little  twinge  of  pain  that  caught  me  unaware  of 
its  approach,"  said  the  old  gentleman  forcing  a 
smile  to  'his  pale  lips. 

"And  now  let  us  tal'k  about  your  Cousin  Jack, 
and  leave  alone  the  vagaries  of  a  moth-eaten  old 
scholar  Whom  you  will  probably  never  see  again," 
he  continued,  as  if  eager  to  banish  some  disa 
greeable  thought  from  his  mind. 

"Oh,  yes !  Do  tell  me  some  news  of  dear  old 
Jack.  His  very  name  seems  to  bring  the  purity, 
freshness  and  freedom  of  the  sea  into  this  hot 
house  life  one  leads  in  society.  Where  is  he  and 
how  is  he?"  cried  Lucy  enthusiastically  at  men 
tion  of  the  name  of  her  sailor  cousin. 

"You  recall,  do  you  not,  the  brief  mention  that 
•he  made  in  the  first  letter  that  we  received  after 
he  sailed  of  a  fearful  storm  encountered  'by  his 
sihip  when  not  less  than  a  month  out  from,  Bos- 
toft,  and  that  his  s'hip  (so  he  wrote)  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  rescue  some  people  from  a 

116 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


foundered  and  sinking  vessel  during  the  gale?" 
asked  Mr.  Dunlap  regaining  gradually  his  com 
posure  as  his  mind  dwelt  upon  a  subject  pleasant 
to  contemplate. 

"Yes,  surely,  I  remember,  grandfather,  because 
the  storm,  I  recall,  was  at  its  height  on  my  wed 
ding  day  and  I  wondered  at  the  time  if  in  all  that 
fearful  danger  Jack  even  thought  of  me." 

"Well,  then !  to  .begin  with  I  must  let  you  into 
a  state  secret.  Your  good'  Uncle  John  rhe  day 
before  Jack  sailed  insisted  that  he  should  carry 
old  Brice,  who  had  been  long  in  our  service,  as 
one  of  his  mates.  John's  object  was  this :  know 
ing  Jack's  pride  and  obstinacy,  he  feared  that  he 
might  need  'help  and  not  apply  to  us  for  it,  so  he 
sent  for  Brice  and  bribed  him  to  stick  by  our 
young  kinsman  and  'keep  us  informed  concerning 
his  welfare.  We  have  had  only  glowing  accounts 
of  Jack's  success  as  a  ship-owner  from  Brice. 
Yesterday  there  came  a  letter  and  a  copy  of  a 
London  paper  from  him  that  filled  my  heart  with 
pride  and  pleasure,  and  I  know  will  overjoy  your 
uncle. 

"Do  hurry,  grandfather.  I  can't  wait  long  to 

117 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


hear  fine  things  about  my  good,  faithful  old 
Jack,"  exclaimed  Lucy  impatiently,  as  she  re 
sumed  her  place  on  the  arm  of  the  old  man's 
chair. 

"This  is  what  the  report  in  the  London  news 
paper  states,  and  is  what  neither  Jack  nor  Brice 
wrote  home.  The  s'hip  that  foundered  was  filled 
with  emigrants  from  Ireland  bound  for  Aus 
tralia.  The  fourth  day  of  the  storm  she  was 
sighted  by  the  'Adams.'  While  the  wind  had 
subsided  somewhat  the  waves  were  still  rolling 
mountain  high.  When  Jack  called  for  volun 
teers  to  man  the  boats  the  crew  hung  in  the  wind, 
until  Jack,  noticing  the  women  and  children  on 
the  deck  of  the  sinking  s'hip,  called  to  Brice  to 
come  with  him,  and  pushing  aside  the  reluctant 
crew  made  ready  to  spring  into  a  boat  which  had 
been  lowered.  Then  the  shamed  crew  rushed 
over  the  side  and  insisted  that  the  captain  allow 
them  to  make  the  attempt  to  rescue  the  people 
from  the  wrecked  vessel.  With  the  last  boat 
load  of  the  emigrants  that  came  safely  on  board 
of  the  'Adams'  was  a  little  girl  who,  weeping 
bitterly,  cried  that  her  sick  mother  had  been  left 
behind.  The  sailors  and  Mr.  Morgan,  the  sec- 

118 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ond  mate  of  the  'Adams/  said  that  the  child's 
mother  was  nearly  dead,  lying  in  a  'bunk  in  the 
sick-bay,  and  that  she  had  smallpox  and  no  one 
dared  lift  and  carry  her  to  the  boat." 

"What  an  awful  position!  What  did  Jack 
say?"  cried  Lucy,  breaking  the  thread  of  her 
grandfather's  narrative. 

"Jack  did  not  say  much,  but  he  did  that  that 
makes  me  proud  to  call  him  my  kinsman,  a  Dun- 
lap  and  a  Yankee  sailor.  He  whispered  to  the 
child  not  to  cry  any  more,  that  she  should  have 
her  mother  brought  to  her.  Then  he  leaped  into 
the  boat  and  was  shoving  off  to  make  the  trip 
alone  to  the  wreck  when  old  Brice  tumbled  over 
the  ship's  side  and  took  his  place  at  an  oar.  Jack 
brought  the  woman  in  his  arms  from  the  sick 
bay  and  laid  her  in  the  boat,  regaining  his  own 
ship,  he  made  the  smallpox  patient  comfortable  in 
his  own  cabin,  nursed  her  himself  and  saved  her 
life,"  said  Mr.  Dunlap  exultantly,  relating  the 
report  of  the  rescue  as  published  in  the  English 
journal. 

"Hurrah!  for  our  noble  Jack!"  cried  Lucy, 
springing  up  and  waving  about  her  head  a  nap 
kin  that  lay  upon  the  table. 

119 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"But  hear  the  end,  daughter,  in  recognition  of 
the  'humanity  of  the  generous  deed,  the  Royal 
Humane  Society  of  England  has  presented  both 
Jack  and  Brice  with  medals,  and  as  an  extraor 
dinary  mark  of  distinction,  the  King  of  England 
has,  with  his  own  hand,  written  a  letter  to  our 
Jack,  congratulating  him  upon  the  performance 
of  a  noble,  unselfish  and  courageous  act,"  added 
the  grandfather. 

"Three  times  three!  for  brave  Jack  Dunlap! 
Hurrah,  for  the  blood  of  a  good  old  Yankee  race 
that  tells  its  story  in  noble  deeds,"  and  waving 
the  improvised  banner  above  her  fair  head  she 
bent  down  and  "kissed  the  glowing  cheek  of  the 
proud  old  man. 

"Run  along  now,  dear,  and  dress.  You  may 
take  me  for  a  sleigh-ride  behind  your  fast  ponies 
before  I  go  down  to  the  office." 

As  Lucy  went  upstairs,  there  came  floating 
back  to  'her  grandfather's  ears  her  fresh,  musical 
voice  singing: 

It's  a  Yankee  ship, 
It's  a  Yankee  crew, 
That's  first  on  waters  blue. 

1 20 


VIII. 

EARLY  in  the  morning  after  Mr.  Dun- 
lap's  dinner-party  in  honor  of  Professor 
Charlton,  when  the  newly  risen  sun  had 
made  a  dazzling  field  of  glittering  diamonds  of 
the  snow  that  lay  white  and  spotless  about  the 
'Eyrie/  Walter  Burton  threw  up  the  sash  of  one 
of  the  long,  low  windows  in  his  sitting-room  and 
stepped  out  on  the  balcony. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  he  drank  in  deep  draughts 
of  the  fresh,  crisp  air,  and  exclaimed  as  he 
shaded  his  eyes: 

"What  a  blessing  is  fresh  air  and  sunlight  after 
the  closeness  of  the  'house  and  gas-light." 

The  man's  face  was  'haggard  and  drawn  like 
one  who  'has  passed  a  night  of  vigil  and  suffer 
ing.  His  eyes  were  surrounded  by  bands  of 
'black  that  gave  to  them  a  hollow  appearance. 

"How  utterly  idiotic  and  inexplicable  seems 
my  mood  and  conduct  of  last  night  out  here  in 

121 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  sunshine,  now  that  I  am  my  natural  self  once 
more." 

Burton  walked  down  from  the  balcony  on  the 
crackling  snow  that  lay  dry  and  sparkling  on  the 
lawn  in  front  of  the  house.  After  a  few  mo 
ments  spent  in  the  exercise  of  pacing  about  and 
swinging  his  arms,  he  returned  to  his  sitting- 
room  refreshed  and  apparently  restored  to  his 
usual  condition  of  mind. 

All  around  the  room  that  he  entered  were  scat 
tered  promiscuously,  musical  instruments,  books, 
cushions,  flowers  and  fragments  of  a  late  supper, 
all  in  that  confusion  that  could  not  fail  to  impress 
the  beholder  with  the  idea  that  the  room  had 
been  recently  the  scene  of  reckless  orgies.  Pil 
lows  heaped  upon  a  sofa  still  bore  the  imprint  of 
some  one's  head,  and  was  evidently  the  couch 
from  which  the  young  man  had  risen  when  he 
went  forth  into  God's  bright  sunlight. 

With  supreme  disgust  depicted  on  his  aesthetic 
countenance,  Walter  Burton  gazed  at  the  evi 
dence  of  his  nocturnal  revel  while  in  that  state 
of  mind  he  had  named  idiotic. 

"These  sporadic  spells  of  silliness  which  come 

122 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


over  my  spirit  are  as  revolting  to  me,  when  re 
lieved  from  their  influences,  as  is  incomprehensi 
ble  the  cause  of  their  coming,"  muttered  Burton, 
kicking  aside  the  various  articles  that  littered  the 
floor. 

"What  earthly  reason  could  there  be  for  the 
peculiar  effect  produced  upon  me  by  the  scrutiny 
of  that  old  professor  from  the  South  ?  There  ex 
ists  nothing  natural  to  account  for  the  strange 
sensation  caused  by  the  penetrating  gaze  of  that 
old  Southerner. 

"The  cause  must  be  sought  in  the  sphere  of  the 
supernatural,  a  province  wherein  reason,  edtica- 
tion  and  culture  protest  against  my  wandering." 
Pausing  the  young  man  strove  to  recall  the 
scenes  and  sensations  of  the  previous  night,  but 
in  vain. 

"It  is  useless  for  me  to  struggle  to  bring  back 
the  vanished  state  of  feeling  that  possessed  me 
last  evening.  It  refuses  to  pass  before  the  spec 
trum  of  my  mind. 

"It  is  ever  thus  while  the  normal  condition  of 
my  mental  faculties  exists.  I  always  fail  to  catch 
the  fleeting  shadow  of  that  distorting  spectre  that 

123 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


haunts  my  spirit  with  its  degrading,  masterful 
influence. 

"Could  I  but  hold  that  sensation  that  steals 
upon  me,  while  my  mental  powers  are  yet  unim 
paired  by  its  presence,  I  might  make  a  diagnosis 
of  the  disease,  analyze  the  cause  and  produce  the 
remedy,  but  my  attempts  are  always  futile.  I 
fail  to  reproduce  the  feeling  that  was  all-pervad 
ing  a  few  shbrt  hours  before  the  current  of  my 
mind  returned  to  its  accustomed  channel." 

The  helplessness  and  baffled  look  upon  the 
man's  face  as  he  ended  this  self-communion  was 
piteous.  Throwing  himself  into  a  chair  and  cov 
ering  his  face  with  his  hands,  he  cried  almost 
with  a  moan : 

"To  what  depth  of  degradation,  brutality  and 
crime  may  I  not  be  carried  while  actuated  by  a 
power  foreign  and  antagonistic  to  all  that  Chris 
tianity,  morality  and  education  have  imparted  to 
me?" 

"My  God!  How  I  had  hoped  that  time  and 
marriage  would  cause  a  diminution  in  the  power 
of  these  strange  spells  and  the  frequency  of  their 

124 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


visits,  until,  at  last,  I  might  be  freed  from  a 
thralldom  repugnant  to  all  my  better  self." 

"Vain  that  hoped  for  release !  Rather  do  the 
mysterious  visitations  increase  in  frequency,  and 
alas !  also  in  power." 

"Like  insidious  waves  that  sap  and  undermine 
the  foundation  of  some  massive  granite  cliff,  the 
delusive  tide  recedes  but  to  return,  each  succeed 
ing  visit  ad'ding  to  the  inroad  already  ma'de. 
Though  small  may  be  the  gain,  they  never  once 
relax  their  firm  grip  upon  the  headway  won  be 
fore,  until  the  toppling  mass  comes  crashing  from 
its  majestic  height,  vanquished  by  and  victim  of 
unremitting  insidiousness." 

"So  I  find  with  each  recurrence  of  the  tide  of 
the  strange  spell  that  submerges  me.  That 
granite  cliff  of  Christianity  whereon  I  builded 
my  castle  of  morality,  that  bastion  of  education, 
those  redoubts  of  refinement,  culture,  aesthetics, 
deemed  by  me  as  creating  an  impregnable  for 
tress  wherein  by  the  aid  of  civilization  I  should 
find  secure  shelter,  are  trembling  and  toppling, 
undermined  by  the  waves  of  that  inexplicable, 
relentless  influence." 

125 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Each  attack  finds  me  weaker  to  resist,  each 
advance  carries  me  further  from  my  fortress;  I 
feel  my  defense  falling;  I  am  drawing  nearer  to 
the  brink;  shall  I  fall?  Shall  I  go  crashing 
down,  dragged  from  my  high  estate  by  some 
fiendish  tendency  as  inexorable  as  it  is  degrad- 
ing?" 

"As  yet  I  am  enabled  to  resist  'beyond  the 
point  of  insensate  silliness  and  folly,  but  each 
returning  shock  is  accompanied  by  ever  stronger 
suggestion  of  immorality,  brutality  and  crime. 
Shall  I  be  strong  enough  always  to  repulse  this 
tireless  current  of  assault?  Shall  I  finally  suc 
cumb  and  fall  to  the  level  of  the  barbarian  and 
the  beast  ?  Soul  harrowing  thought !" 

"The  insane  or  drink  frenzied  man  is  uncon 
scious  of  his  acts,  but  such  is  not  my  miserable 
fate,  while  held  in  bondage  by  that  unknown 
power  I  appreciate  the  absurdity  of  my  every  act. 
I  still  am  I,  but  powerless  to  control  myself;  I 
catdh  the  look  of  wonder  that  fills  the  eyes  of 
others.  I  feel  the  shame,  but  am  powerless  to 
remove  the  cause." 

"And,  oh !  the  horror  of  seeing  and  recogniz~ 

126 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ing  a  look  of  rebu'ke  and  repulsion  in  the  eyes  of 
those  I  love  and  those  who  love  me.  To  see  the 
smile  of  pride  vanish  and  the  blush  of  mortifica 
tion  succeed  it  on  the  face  of  that  being  of  all  the 
world  to  me  the  dearest  and  fairest." 

"Last  night  in  my  dear  Lucy's  eyes  I  read  re 
proof,  rebuke,  and  on  her  cheeks  I  saw  the  red 
flag  of  shame.  Cognizant  of  the  cause,  I,  like  a 
leaf  upon  the  current  of  some  mighty  cataract, 
'helpless,  rushed  along  in  humiliation  and  self- 
disgust.  I  beat  against  the  stream  with  all  my 
remaining  strength  of  mind;  I  struggled  to  re 
gain  the  shore  of  my  accustomed  dignity,  but  all 
in  vain." 

"I  was  carried  on  and  on,  until  plunging  over 
the  brink  of  the  fall  I  struck  the  bottom  Where 
lie  those  self-respect  destroying  rocks  of  dis 
grace.  In  ignominy  I  fled  and  sought  refuge 
here ;  ceasing  my  unavailing  efforts  to  break  the 
chain  that  held  me  I  gave  free  rein  to  the  influ 
ences  that  governed  my  mood." 

"Wild  and  ribald  songs  burst  from  my  lips, 
hilarious  and  lascivious  music  poured  from  the 
instruments  that  I  touched,  movements,  rythmic 

127 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


but  novel,  fantastic,  barbarous,  jerked  my  lim'bs 
about  in  the  measure  of  some  savage  dance.  I 
ate  and  drank  more  as  an  untutored  tribesman  of 
the  jungle  than  a  civilized  citizen  of  our  cultured 
country." 

"All  unrestrained  and  unopposed  that  mystify 
ing  mood  bore  me  on  recklessly,  abandoned,  until 
it  swept  me  to  the  very  verge  of  wickedness  and 
sin.  On  the  extremist  edge  of  that  precipice, 
below  which  lies  the  gulf  of  infamy,  I  found 
strength  to  grasp  and  hold  the  feeble  tendrils  of 
that  higher  estate  that  still  clung  around  me;  in 
every  fiber  of  my  being  there  surged  Satanic 
suggestions  to  relinquish  my  hold  upon  the  frag 
ile  stay  to  which  I  desperately  clung,  and  take  the 
plunge  into  that  dark  gulf  below." 

"Go  where  base  associates  await  you !  Where 
lewdness,  lasciviousness,  brutality,  beastliness 
and  licensed  libidinousness  lead  to  savage  satiety 
that  ends  in  blood.  These  were  the  suggestive 
words  whispered  to  me  by  that  fiendish  spirit 
of  the'se  strange  spells.  They  vibrated  through 
every  nerve  and  vein  of  my  racked  and  straining 
being." 

128 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Thank  God!  I  still  had  power  of  soul  suffi 
cient  to  resist,  but  Lord!  how  long  shall  I  be 
enabled  to  avert  that  which  is  seemingly  my 
doom?" 

Burton  arose  and  for  several  minutes  walked 
about  the  apartment  with  agitated,  nervous  tread. 
Passing  before  a  long  mirror  that  stood  between 
the  windows,  he  stopped  suddenly  before  it, 
gazed  intently  at  his  image  reflected  there,  and 
cried  out: 

"The  reflection  there  tells  me  that  I  appear  to 
be  as  other  men  around  me.  In  stature  and' 
'features  I  seem1  not  essentially  at  variance  with 
the  average  man  I  meet,  perhaps  I  am  even  more 
comely.  What  then  is  it  that  caused  me  to  fall 
shamefaced,  embarrassed  and  simpering  like  a 
silly  school  boy,  before  the  'scrutiny  of  that  old 
scholar  last  night?" 

"I  hold  the  Christian  faith;  I  possess  more 
than  the  ordinary  degree  of  education  common 
in  this  country;  I  have  acquired  proficiency  in 
•many  accomplishments ;  I  bear  the  impress  of  the 
culture  and  refinement  of  this  most  enlightened 
century,  and  yet!  and  yet!" 

129 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"The  searching,  piercing  glance  of  that  old  sci 
entist  seemed  to  penetrate  some  concealing  veil 
and  tearing  it  aside  revealed  me  in  my  very 
nakedness;  I  seemed  to  stand  forth  an  exposed 
impostor ;  I  felt  myself  a  self-confessed  charlatan, 
caught  in  the  very  act  of  masquerading  in  the 
stolen  trappings  of  my  superiors;  I  became  the 
buffoon  in  borrowed  gown  and  cap  of  the  philos 
opher,  an  object  of  ridicule  and  wrath." 

"Before  those  deep  seeing  eyes  I  was  no  longer 
self-assured;  convicted  of  mimicking  manners 
foreign  to  myself,  I  seemed  to  cast  aside  the  un 
availing,  purloined  mask  and  mummery  and  thus 
reveal  myself  a  fraud.  Seeking  safety  from  the 
scorn  and  just  resentment  of  the  defrauded  I  took 
refuge  in  pitiful  imbecility  and  silliness." 

"Once  before  the  same  experience  was  mine. 
In  Paris,  at  the  American  Ambassador's  recep 
tion  I  met  the  Liberian  minister.  As  soon  as  the 
gigantic  black  man  fastened  his  gaze  upon  me,  I 
became  disconcerted.  When  we  clasped  hands 
all  the  feeling  of  superiority  that  education  gives 
departed  from  me,  all  the  refined  sentiments 
created  by  culture  vanished,  I  could  only  simper 

130 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


and  chuckle  like  a  child  over  senseless  jokes  as 
did  the  negro  giant  beside  me." 

"On  that  occasion,  fearing  to  shock  and  disgust 
my  bride,  I  stole  like  a  thief  from  her  side  and 
feigning  sudden  illness  begged  a  friend  to  take 
my  place  as  escort  of  my  wife,  while  as  one  bereft 
of  reason  I  raced  along  the  boulevards  and  buried 
myself  beneath  the  dark  shade  of  the  trees  in  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  where,  capering  and  shouting 
madly  I  danced  until,  exhausted,  I  fell  to  the 
ground/' 

As  Burton  stood  regarding  his  image  reflected 
in  Ihe  mirror,  he  became  suddenly  aware  of  how 
wan  and  worn  was  the  face  before  him  and  turn 
ing  wearily  away  he  exclaimed, 

"I  must  throw  aside  these  wretched  recollec 
tions  and  forebodings.  I  look  absolutely  ill.  I 
shall  be  in  no  condition  to  appear  either  at  the 
office  or  at  my  home  unless  I  succeed  in  obliter 
ating  some  of  the  evidences  of  my  suffering  last 
night." 

When,  by  a  mighty  effort,  he  had  acquired  suf 
ficient  control  of  his  nerves  and  voice  as  not  to 
attract  the  attention  of  his  valet,  he  rang  the  bell. 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Victor,  prepare  my  bath,  lay  out  some  linen 
and  a  proper  suit  of  clothing.  Order  my  break 
fast  served  as  soon  as  I  ring,  open  the  windows 
and  let  fresh  air  into  the  room  when  I  leave  it," 
said  Burton  to  his  attendant,  when  the  valet  ap 
peared  in  answer  to  his  master's  summons. 

A  refreshing  bath,  a  liberal  indulgence  in 
strong,  black  coffee,  assisted  by  the  will  power  of 
the  man  enabled  Burton  to  enter  the  office  of  "J. 
Dunlap"  almost  entirely  restored  to  his  custom 
ary  appearance. 

The  Manager  had  just  finished  examining  the 
reports  submitted  by  the  heads  of  the  various  de 
partments  of  the  great  Shipping  and  Banking 
house  when  the  door  of  his  office  opened  and  the 
Superintendent  entered. 

David  Chapman  looked  even  more  hawk-like, 
hungry  and  eager  than  when  he  had  stood  one 
year  before  in  the  same  place. 

"Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Burton,  but  I  thought  you 
might  wish  to  be  informed  of  the  fact  that  under 
instructions  from  Mr.  Dunlap,  I  am  forwarding 
by  the  steamer  that  leaves  today  for  Hong  Kong, 
a  package  and  some  letters  that  Mr.  Dunlap  gave 

132 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


me  to  send  to  Captain  Jack  Dunlap.  The  pack 
age  contains,  I  believe,  a  testimonial  of  Mr.  Dun- 
lap's  admiration  for  the  noble  conduct  of  his  kins 
man  in  connection  with  the  rescue  from  the  wreck 
of  that  emigrant  ship.  As  I  am  availing  myself 
of  'the  opportunity  to  communicate  my  own  opin 
ion  concerning  Captain  Jack's  action,  I  thought  it 
not  improbable  that  you  would  wish  to  send  some 
message,"  said  the  Superintendent,  peering 
stealthily  at  Burton  as  he  spoke. 

"I  thank  you,  Chapman,  most  heartily  for  let 
ting  me  know  this/'  cried  Burton  warmly. 

"How  much  time  may  I  have  to  prepare  a  let 
ter  and  package  to  accompany  yours  and  Mr. 
Dunlap's?" 

"Mr.  Dunlap  told  me  to  hold  the  package  until 
he  arrived  at  the  office  as  it  was  likely  that  his 
grandaughter  would  wish  to  place  some  commun 
ication  for  her  cousin  with  his." 

"And  I  am  sure  she  will!  My  wife's  admira 
tion  for  her  cousin  Jack  is  unbounded.  I  will 
hasten  to  prepare  my  contribution  to  the  congrat 
ulations  sent  to  Captain  Jack.  He  is  a  magnifi 
cent  man  and  I  am  proud  to  be  connected  in  any 
way  with  such  a  noble  character." 

133 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"You  are  right,  sir.  Jack  Dunlap  is  a  brave, 
true  man  and  comes  of  a  brave,  true  race.  His 
actions  prove  that  blood  will  tell,"  rejoined  Chap 
man  with  more  enthusiasm  than  it  seemed  pos 
sible  for  one  of  his  disposition  to  exhibit. 

"Oh !  Pshaw !  Nonsense !  I  give  Jack 
greater  credit  for  his  courage  and  faithfulness 
than  you  do  when  you  announce  the  absurd  doc 
trine  that  men  inherit  such  qualities.  I  give  him 
alone  credit  for  what  he  is,  not  his  race  or  blood. 
Blood  may  be  well  enough  in  hounds  and  horses, 
but  education  and  culture  make  the  man  not  the 
blood  in  his  veins,"  exclaimed  Burton  impatiently. 

"The  same  reason  that  exists  for  the  superior 
ity  of  the  well-bred  horse  or  dog,  causes  the  man 
of  a  good  race  to  be  the  superior  of  the  man  of 
an  inferior  race,"  said  Chapman  meaningly,  with 
an  almost  imperceptible  sneer  in  the  tone  of  his 
voice. 

"That  argument  might  hold  good  provided  that 
men  like  horses  carried  jockeys  to  furnish  the  in 
telligence  or  like  hounds  had  huntsmen  to  guide 
them,"  replied  the  Manager  with  more  heat  than 
seemed  justified. 

134 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Give  a  mule  the  most  astute  jockey  on  earth 
and  he  is  no  match  for  the  thorough-bred  horse. 
Give  the  mongrel  cur  the  craftiest  huntsman,  he 
can  neither  find  nor  hold  as  the  hound  of  pure 
blood.  Give  the  man  of  inferior  race  every  ad 
vantage  that  education  and  culture  can  furnish, 
he  still  remains  inferior  to  the  man  of  the  purer, 
better  race  and  blood.  The  superiority  of  the  lat 
ter  lies  in  the  inherent  qualities  of  his  race,"  re 
plied  Chapman,  while  a  sinister  smile  distorted 
his  thin  scarlet  lips,  and  a  baleful  light  flashed 
from  his  black  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  waited  to 
see  the  effect  of  his  last  speech,  then  turned  and 
glided  from  the  Manager's  office. 


135 


IX. 

ARABELLA  CHAPMAN  was  the  neat 
est  of  housekeepers.  The  sitting  room 
of  the  home  of  David  Chapman  was  a 
pattern  of  tidiness  and  cleanliness,  the  furniture 
was  rubbed  and  polished  until  it  shone  like  glass, 
every  picture,  rug  and  curtain  was  as  speckless  as 
newly  fallen  snow. 

Miss  Arabella  seemed  especially  created  to 
form  the  central  figure  of  her  surroundings,  as 
seated  on  a  low  rocking  chair,  she  plied  a  neat  lit 
tle  needle  on  some  nice  little  article  of  lace-work. 

No  tiny,  tidy  wren  was  ever  brighter  and  more 
chipper  in  its  shining  little  brass  cage  than  was 
Miss  Arabella,  as,  bird-like,  she  peeped  at  her 
brother,  when  he  drew  the  cover  from  the  violon 
cello  which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  intend  passing  the 
evening  at  home,  David,"  piped  up  the  ancient 
maiden. 

136 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"It  has  really  been  so  long  since  we  had  any 
music  that  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  uncover 
your  violoncello,"  continued  the  twin  sister  of 
David  Chapman. 

"Well,  Arabella,  the  fact  is  that  in  my  many 
excursions  during  the  last  year  I  have  collected 
such  a  quantity  of  food  for  thought,  that,  like  a 
well  rilled  camel  I  feel  it  necessary  to  pause  and 
chew  the  cud  awhile,"  replied  David  arranging 
some  sheets  of  music  on  a  stand  and  passing  his 
hand  lovingly  over  the  chords  of  the  instrument 
that  he  held. 

"I  must  admit  that  I  should  prefer  to  remain 
hungry  mentally  forever  if  to  procure  food  for 
thought  it  were  necessary  to  don  the  apparel  of  a 
tramp,  and  prowl  around  at  all  hours  of  the  night, 
seeking,  doubtless,  in  the  vilest  dens,  among  the 
lowest  vagabonds  for  mental  sustenance,"  chirped 
Arabella  sharply,  prodding  her  needlework  spite 
fully. 

"Perhaps,  my  good  sister,  you  will  never  quite 
undertand  that  some  men  are  born  investigators. 
By  nature  they  are  led  to  investigate  any  phenom 
enon  that  presents  itself." 

137 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Then  I  insist  that  it  is  a  most  unfortunate 
thing  for  one  so  born,"  pecked  Miss  Arabella 
with  the  sharpness  of  a  quarrelsome  English 
sparrow. 

"It  causes  one  to  make  a  Paul  Pry  of  himself 
and  wander  about  in  a  very  questionable  manner 
at  unseemly  hours,  to  the  injury  of  both  health 
•and  reputation.  When  one  of  your  age,  David, 
is  so  endowed  by  nature  it  is  a  positive  misfor 
tune." 

Chapman  appeared  greatly  amused  by  the  irri 
tated  manner  of  his  sister,  for  he  smiled  in  that 
ghastly  way  of  his  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
still  with  his  violoncello  resting  between  his  legs, 
and  said, 

"You  see,  Arabella,  there  may  be  a  great  dif 
ference  in  the  way  we  regard  the  affairs  of  life. 
Doubtless  scientific  researches  may  not  afford 

much  pleasure  to  a  spinster  of  your  age,  but  such 

•  „ 

researches  are  very  attractive  to  me. 

"All  I  can  add  to  the  opinion  already  expressed 
is  that  when  your  so-called  scientific  researches 
not  alone  lead  you  to  assume  the  character  of  an 
outcast,  and  cause  you  to  wander  about  at  night 

138 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


like  a  homeless  cat,  but  also  induce  you  to  make 
our  home  a  receptacle  for  all  the  stray,  vulgar, 
dirty  negroes  that  happen  to  come  to  Boston,  I 
must  certainly  protest  against  indulgence  in  such 
researches  by  you,"  retorted  the  elderly  maiden 
severely,  as  she  cast  her  glances  about  her  immac 
ulately  clean  apartment,  and  remembered  some 
disagreeable  event  of  the  last  few  months. 

David  was  highly  amused  by  this  speech,  for 
he  gave  utterance  to  a  cackling  kind  of  laugh  and 
exclaimed, 

"Arabella,  you'll  never  get  to  heaven  if  the 
road  be  muddy.  You  will  be  fearful  of  getting 
your  skirts  soiled.  I  shall  be  right  sorry  for  your 
soul  if  the  path  to  the  other  place  be  clean.  I 
fear  in  that  event  that  nothing  could  hold  you 
back  from  going  straight  to  Hades." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  David.  You  know  full 
well  that  I  am  no  more  particular  about  tidiness 
than  every  other  decent  woman." 

What  monomaniac  on  the  subject  of  cleanliness 
ever  thought  otherwise? 

"I  insist,"  continued  Miss  Arabella  indig 
nantly,  "that  when  one  indulges  a  fad  to  the 

139 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


extent  of  disarranging  an  entire  household,  under 
the  pretense  that  it  is  part  of  a  scientific  research, 
it  is  time  to  protest  against  such  proceedings." 

"Oh,  I  don't  imagine  that  the  entire  household 
has  seriously  suffered  by  my  investigations  in  the 
field  of  ethnology,"  replied  the  brother  still  enjoy 
ing  his  sister's  perturbation  of  mind  as  she  re 
called  some  recent  experiences. 

"It  may  be  highly  amusing  to  you,  David.  I 
hope  that  you  enjoy  the  joke,  but  it  has  been  any 
thing  but  amusing  to  me  and  to  Bridget,  having 
to  clean,  rub  and  air  every  article  of  furniture  in 
the  house  two  or  three  times  each  week,  and  it  is 
no  laughing  matter  to  freeze  while  the  cold  wind 
blows  the  disgusting  odors  left  by  vour  guest  out 
of  the  rooms.  Bridget  has  notified  me  that  she 
will  leave  if  you  continue  to  make  a  hostelry  for 
dirty  darkies  out  of  the  house,"  said  the  sister 
fairly  shivering  at  the  remembrance  of  the  condi 
tion  in  which  she  had  found  her  spotless  premises 
after  a  visit  of  some  of  her  brother's  newly  found 
associates. 

"I  don't  think  that  I  am  the  only  member  of 
this  family  that  has  a  hobby,  Arabella,"  replied 

140 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Chapman  grinning  at  the  flushed  little  lady. 

"I  am  unaware  of  what  you  refer  to,  David.  I 
certainly  have  no  such  uncomfortable  idiosyn 
crasy  as  a  hard  ridden  hobby." 

"Don't  you  think  even  cleanliness  may  become 
a  most  pestiferous  hobby?"  queried  Chapmam 
with  assumed  guilelessness. 

"Cleanliness  and  tidiness  are  but  other  words 
for  common  decency,  and  can  never  be  classed 
with  the  vagaries  of  a  'born  investigator,' "  said 
the  spinster  sarcastically,  sticking  her  dictum  into 
her  needlework,  savagely. 

"You  doubtless  have  heard,  Arabella,  of  the 
woman  who  possessed  so  much  of  what  you  call 
'common  decency'  that  she  forced  her  family  to 
live  in  the  barn  in  order  that  the  dwelling  might 
remain  clean  and  tidy,"  answered  Chapman,  to 
whom  the  wrath  of  Arabella  was  the  greatest 
pleasure  imaginable. 

"I  only  wish  that  we  had  a  'barn.  I  would  soon 
enough  force  you  to  entertain  your  negro  visitors 
there  instead  of  bringing  their  odoriferous  per 
sons  and  filthy  accompaniments  into  this  house," 
cried  the  sister  vindictively. 

141 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"You  must  be  reasonable,  my  most  precise  sis 
ter/*  said  David. 

"When  I  became  interested  in  the  science  of 
ethnology,  I  deemed  it  expedient  to  begin  by 
studying  the  negro  race,  their  habits,  characteris 
tics,  manners  and  tendencies.  Being  a  man  born 
and  bred  in  a  northern  state  I  have  never  had  the 
opportunities  possessed  by  southerners,  who  are 
surrounded  by  negroes  from  infancy,  to  know  the 
traits  of  that  most  interesting  race.  Hence  I  have 
been  forced,  on  behalf  of  science,  to  go  forth  and 
gather  such  material  as  was  obtainable  for  sub 
jects  of  study  and  observation." 

"David,  don't  be  hypocritical  with  me;  you 
know  that  neither  ethnology  nor  the  negro  race 
possessed  the  slightest  interest  for  you,  until  you 
learned  that  Walter  Burton  had  a  strain  of  negro 
blood  in  his  veins." 

"I  do  not  deny  that  my  zeal  was  not  diminished 
by  that  fact,"  answered  Chapman  shortly  and 
dryly. 

"And  I  maintain  that  your  zeal  is  caused  en 
tirely  by  that  fact,  and  I  wish  to  say  further, 
David  Chapman,"  exclaimed  the  withered  wisp  of 

142 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


a  woman,  drawing  herself  up  very  straight  in  her 
chair  and  looking  angrily  at  her  brother,  "if  all 
this  investigation  and  research  lead  to  anything 
that  may  cause  trouble,  annoyance  or  pain  to 
Lucy  Dunlap,  whom  I  have  held  in  these  arms  as 
a  baby,  then  I  say  that  you  are  a  wicked,  ungrate 
ful  man,  and  I  wish  to  know  nothing  of  your  dia 
bolic  designs,  nor  of  the  disgusting  science  that 
you  call  ethnology." 

God  bless  the  dried-up  spinster!  God  bless 
thy  bony,  skinny  arms  that  held  that  baby! 
Thrice  blessed  be  the  good  and  kindly  heart  that 
beats  warmly  in  thy  weak  and  withered  little 
body. 

Seriously  and  steadily  did  Chapman  gaze  for 
a  minute  at  the  vehement,  fragile  figure  before 
him,  then  said  meditatively, 

"I  believe  she  loves  the  Dunlap  name  as  much 
as  I  do  myself." 

"More,  indeed  a  great  deal  more,  for  I  could 
not  cause  pain  to  one  of  that  name  even  though 
I  benefited  all  the  other  Dunlaps  who  have  ever 
been  born  by  so  doing,"  quickly  cried  the  old 
maid. 

143 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Don't  alarm  yourself  needlessly,  sister,"  said 
Chapman  earnestly. 

"My  investigations  are  neither  undertaken  to 
injure  Lucy  nor  could  they  do  so  even  had  I  that 
intention.  It  is  too  late.  I  am  perfectly  frank 
and  truthful  when  I  state  that  the  subject  is  ex 
ceedingly  interesting  to  me,  and  the  developments 
fascinating.  Since  I  have  familiarized  myself 
somewhat  with  the  leading  peculiarities  of  the 
negro  race  I  recognize  much  more  of  the  negro  in 
Burton  than  I  imagined  could  possibly  exist  in 
one  possessing  so  great  a  preponderance  of  the 
blood  of  the  white  race." 

"I  am  glad  to  learn  that  no  harm  can  come  to 
Lucy  by  your  persistent  pursuit  after  knowledge 
of  ethnology,  but  I  must  say  it  does  not  seem  to 
me  a  very  genteel  course  of  conduct  for  a  man  of 
you  age  and  education  to  be  spying  about  and 
watching  an  associate  in  business,"  said  the  can 
did  Arabella. 

"I  assure  you  that  I  am  not  obliged  either  to 
play  the  spy  or  watch  particularly,  for  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  negro  in  Burton  positively  obtrudes 
itself  daily.  In  fact  I  am  certain  that  it  is  neither 

144 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


because  I  am  watching  for  such  evidences,  nor 
because  I  can  now  recognize  negro  traits  better 
than  formerly,  but  simply  because  the  negro  in 
the  man  becomes  daily  more  obtrusively  appar 
ent,"  answered  Dunlap's  superintendent  as  he 
began  tuning  and  testing  his  favorite  musical  in 
strument. 

Even  the  most  prejudiced  critic  would  be 
forced  to  admit  that  whatever  David  Chapman 
undertook  to  do  he  accomplished  well.  He  never 
relaxed  in  persistent  effort  until  an  assigned  task 
was  performed.  He  became  for  the  time  being 
absolutely  fanatic  upon  any  subject  he  had  before 
him.  His  performance  on  the  violoncello  was  of 
the  same  character  as  his  efforts  in  other  direc 
tions  where  his  attention  was  demanded.  It  was 
artistic,  magnificent,  sympathetic  and  impressive. 

To  the  violoncello  Chapman  seemed  to  tell  his 
soul-story;  through  it  he  breathed  those  hidden 
sentiments  that  were  so  deeply  buried  in  the 
secret  recesses  of  his  heart  that  their  existence 
could  never  be  suspected.  Music  seemed  the 
angel  guarding  with  flaming  sword  the  gateway 
of  this  peculiar  man's  soul.  When  music  raised 

145 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  barrier  glimpses  of  unexpected  beauties  sur 
prised  all  those  who  knew  the  jealous,  prying, 
cynical  nature  of  the  man. 

As  David  Chapman  began  playing  his  sister 
with  closed  eyes  rested  her  head  on  the  back  of 
the  rocking  chair  and  bathed  her  lonely  old  heart 
in  the  flood  of  melody  that  poured  from  the  in 
strument  in  her  brother's  hands. 

How  that  music  spoke  to  the  poor,  craving, 
hungry  heart  within  her  flat  and  weazen  bosom. 
Youth  and  hope  seemed  singing  joyous  songs  of 
life's  springtime;  love  then  burst  forth  blushing 
while  whispering  the  sweet  serenade  of  that  glor 
ious  summer  season  of  womankind.  Then  in 
cadence  soft  and  tender,  gently  as  fall  the  autumn 
leaves,  the  music  sadly  told  of  blighting  frosts. 
Youth  and  hope  like  summer  roses  withered  and 
vanished.  Now  the  gloom,  despair  and  disap 
pointment  of  life's  winter  wailing  forth  filled  the 
heart  of  the  forlorn  old  maiden;  tears  rolled 
down  her  wrinkled  cheeks  unheeded  and  almost 
a  sob  escaped  from  her  quivering  lips. 

Weep  no  more  sad  heart.  The  music  in  peal 
ing  tones  of  triumph  is  shouting  the  Glad  Tidings 

146 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


of  that  eternity  of  endless  spring,  where  all  is 
Love  and  all  is  Joy;  where  the  flowers  of  ever 
lasting  summer  never  fade  and  die;  where  no 
blighting  frost  can  come  to  wither  the  blossoms 
of  Youth  and  Hope;  where  the  cold  blasts  of 
winter's  gloom  and  disappointment  never  blow  to 
chill  and  sadden  the  soul. 

Grandly  resound  those  notes  triumphant;  open 
seem  the  gates  of  that  promised  future,  together 
brother  and  sister  their  souls  seem  ascending; 
above  all  is  bright,  refulgent  with  the  great  light 
of  gladness,  now,  coming  sweetly,  faintly,  they 
catch  the  sound  of  welcome,  sung  above  by  that 
heavenly  chorus. 

The  music  died  away  in  silence.  Brother  and 
sister  sat  for  a  long  time,  each  busy  with  their 
own  thoughts.  Who  but  the  All-wise  can  ever  tell 
what  thoughts  come  on  such  occasions  to  those 
who  in  silence  hold  self-communion  in  the  sanc 
tuary  of  their  own  souls. 

"David,  it  seems  strange  to  me  that  one  having 
the  tenderness  of  heart  that  you  have,  should 
never  have  found  some  good  woman  to  love," 
said  the  sister  softly  when  the  silence  was  finally 
broken. 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Indeed,  sister,  I  sometimes  think  I  might  have 
done  so  and  been  happier  far  than  I  am,  had  I 
not  early  in  life  given,  in  the  intense  way  that  is 
part  of  my  nature,  all  the  love  of  my  heart  and 
consecrated  all  my  devotion  to  the  business  in 
which  I  then  engaged  and  submerged  my  every 
emotion  in  the  glory  and  honor  of  the  house  of 
'].  Dunlap.'  " 

"Ah,  brother,  I  often  think  of  that  and  wonder 
what  would  happen  if  aught  should  go  wrong 
with  the  object  of  your  life-long  devotion." 

"It  would  kill  me,  Arabella,"  said  Chapman 
quietly. 

The  certainty  of  the  result  to  the  man,  should 
misfortune  shatter  the  idol  of  his  adoration,  was 
more  convincingly  conveyed  to  the  listener  by  that 
simple  sentence  and  quiet  tone  than  excited  ex 
clamation  could  have  carried ;  Arabella  uttered  a 
sigh  as  she  thought  of  the  unshared  place  that  'J- 
Dunlap'  held  in  the  strenuous  soul  of  her  brother. 

"Brother,  you  should  not  allow  your  mind  and 
heart  to  become  so  wrapped  up  in  the  house  of 
Dunlap;  remember  the  two  old  gentlemen,  in  the 
course  of  nature,  must  soon  pass  away  and  that 

148 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


then  there  is  no  Dunlap  to  continue  the  business, 
and  the  career  of  the  firm  must  come  to  an  end." 

"No,  Arabella,  that  may  not  happen,"  replied 
Chapman.  His  voice,  however,  gave  no  evidence 
of  the  pleasure  that  such  a  statement  from  him 
seemed  to  warrant. 

"There  was  an  anti-nuptial  contract  entered 
into  by  Burton,  in  which  it  is  agreed  that  any 
child  born  to  James  Dunlap's  granddaughter  shall 
bear  the  name  of  Dunlap ;  hence  the  career  of  our 
great  house  will  not  necessarily  terminate  upon 
the  death  of  the  twin  brothers." 

"I  am  so  glad  to  know  that,  David.  I  have 
been  much  concerned  for  your  sake,  brother,  fear 
ing  the  dire  consequences  of  the  death  of  both  of 
the  old  gentlemen  whom  you  have  served  so  de 
votedly  for  forty  odd  years."  The  reassured  lit 
tle  creature  paused  and  then  a  thought,  all  wo 
manly,  occurred  to  her  mind  reddening  her 
peaked  visage  as  she  exclaimed, 

"What  beautiful  children  the  Burton-Dunlaps 
should  be!" 

A  worried,  anxious,  doubtful  look  came  over 
Chapman's  countenance.  He  gazed  at  the  floor 

149 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


thoughtfully  for  several  minutes  and  then  ap 
parently  speaking  to  himself  said, 

"That  is  the  point ;  there  is  where  I  am  at  sea ; 
it  is  that  question  that  gives  me  most  anxiety." 

"Why,  what  can  you  mean,  most  inscrutable 
man,  Mr.  Burton  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men 
that  I  ever  saw  and  surely  no  prettier  woman 
ever  lived  than  sweet  Lucy  Dunlap,"  cried  the 
loyal-hearted  old  maid. 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  beauty,  it  is  a  question 
of  blood.  If  it  be  only  a  matter  of  appearances 
Lucy  Burton's  children  would  probably  be  mar 
vels  of  infantine  loveliness,  but  it  is  a  scientific 
problem,"  replied  David  seriously  and  earnestly. 

"What  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  nonsensical 
has  science  to  do  with  Lucy's  babies  if  any  be 
sent  to  her?"  cried  out  Miss  Arabella,  forgetting 
in  her  excitement  that  maidenly  reserve  that  was 
usually  hers. 

"I  regret  to  say  that  science  has  a  great  deal  to 
do  with  the  subject,"  answered  the  brother  quiet 
ly.  "It  is  a  matter  of  grave  doubt  in  the  minds  of 
many  scientific  men  whether,  under  any  circum 
stances,  an  octoroon  married  to  one  of  the  white 

150 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


race  ever  can  produce  descendants;  it  is  claimed 
by  many  respectable  authorities  that  negro  blood 
is  not  susceptible  of  reduction  beyond  the  point 
attained  in  the  octoroon;  that  it  must  terminate 
there  or  breed  back  through  its  original  channel," 
continued  Chapman. 

"It  is  not  true !  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  such 
stuff,"  ejaculated  Miss  Arabella,  dogmatically. 

"Authorities  admit,  it  is  true,  that  there  may  be 
exceptions  to  the  invariability  of  this  law,  but 
claim  that  such  instances  are  faults  in  nature  and 
likely,  as  all  faults  in  nature,  to  produce  the  most 
astounding  results.  These  authorities  assert  that 
the  progeny  of  an  octoroon  and  one  of  the  white 
race  being  the  outcome  of  a  fault  in  nature,  are 
certain  to  be  deficient  in  strength  and  vigor,  are 
apt  to  be  deformed,  and  even  may  possibly  breed 
back  to  a  remote  coal-black  ancestor,"  said  Chap 
man,  speaking  slowly,  punctuating  each  sentence 
with  a  gasping  sound,  almost  a  groan. 

"Stuff  and  nonsense !"  exclaimed  his  sister  ris 
ing  in  indignation  from  her  chair  and  moving 
toward  the  door,  saying, 

"I  positively  will  hear  no  more  of  your  absurd 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


science.  It's  all  foolishness.  If  that  be  the  idiocy 
that  you  learn  from  ethnology  I  think  that  you 
had  better  occupy  your  time  otherwise.  Thanks 
to  your  'authorities'  and  their  crazy  notions,  I 
suppose  that  I  shall  dream  all  night  of  monkeys 
and  monsters,  but  even  that  is  better  than  sitting 
her  and  listening  to  my  brother,  whom  I  supposed 
had  some  brains,  talk  like  a  fit  subject  for  the 
lunatic  asylum."  With  the  closing  sentence,  as  a 
parting  shot  at  her  brother  the  incensed  spinster 
sailed  out  of  the  door  and  with  a  whisk  went  up 
stairs  to  her  virgin  chamber. 


152 


X. 

LUCY  BURTON  is  a  perfect  dream  to 
night,  is  she  not  ?"  exclaimed  enthusias 
tically  Alice  Stanhope,  gazing  admir 
ingly  at  the  fair  companion  of  her  school  days 
who  had  just  entered  the  room  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  her  husband. 

"Almost  as  pretty  as  you  are,"  gallantly  replied 
'Bertie'  Winthrop,  to  whom  the  remark  of  the 
young  woman  was  addressed. 

"Well,  don't  expect  me  to  vie  with  you  in  flat 
tery  and  reply  by  saying  that  Mr.  Burton  is  al 
most  as  handsome  as  you  are,  for  I  am  like  the 
father  of  our  country,  'I  can't  tell  a  lie/  " 

"Oh!  Now,  that's  good.  I  am  justified  in  sup 
posing  from  that  speech  that  Burton  is  not  nearly 
as  handsome  as  I  am,  much  obliged,"  replied 
young  Winthrop,  laughing  and  making  a  pro 
found  obeisance  to  the  pretty  creature  beside  him. 

"You  know  what  I  mean  you  rascal,  so  don't 

153 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


try  to  look  innocent.  See  with  what  adoring 
glances  Lucy  looks  up  into  her  husband's  face," 
said  Miss  Stanhope  again  calling  her  attendant's 
attention  to  the  group  of  guests  near  the  entrance. 

"Are  you  going  to  look  at  me  like  that  a  year 
from  now?"  asked  'Bertie'  in  a  quizzical  fashion 
as  he  slyly  squeezed  the  dimpled  elbow  near  his 
side.  On  dit,  Alice  Stanhope  and  Albert  Win- 
throp  will  soon  be  married. 

"Bertie,  you  horrid  tease,  I  don't  believe  you 
will  ever  deserve  to  be  looked  at  except  angrily," 
retorted  the  blushing  girl  and  added  as  she 
moved  a  little  further  from  him, 

"And  you  behave,  sir,  or  I  won't  let  you  remain 
by  me  another  minute. 

"It's  a  deuce  of  a  crush  you  have  gotten  up," 
said  'Bertie'  promptly  disregarding  the  warning 
that  he  had  received  by  stepping  up  close  to  the 
side  of  his  fiancee. 

"Where  did  you  get  all  these  people  anyway, 
Alice?" 

"There's  no  'all  these  people'  about  it,  they  are 
the  musical  set  among  my  friends  in  Boston  and 
New  York;  as  Signor  Capello  and  Mme.  Cantara 

154 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


are  to  sing  of  course  everyone  invited  was  eager 
to  be  present." 

"Never  invite  all  your  musical  friends  to  dine 
with  us  when  we  are — " 

"Hush,  you  embarrassing  wretch,"  cried  Miss 
Stanhope  turning  to  welcome  some  recently  ar 
rived  guests. 

After  considerable  diplomatic  finessing  and 
resort  to  that  most  efficacious  auxiliary,  "Papa's 
cheque  book/'  Miss  Stanhope  had  secured  the 
services  of  the  two  great  operatic  luminaries  to 
sing  at  a  grand  musicale  given  by  her. 

All  the  "swell  set"  of  Boston  and  New  York 
thronged  the  palacious  home  of  the  Stanhope's  on 
the  occasion.  The  gray-haired,  courtly  governor 
of  Massachusetts  was  chatting  as  gaily  with 
petite  Bessie  Winthrop  as  he  had  done  with  her 
grandmother  a  half  century  before.  Foreign 
diplomatists  and  Federal  potentates  discussed  in 
corners  the  comparative  merits  of  Italian  and 
German  composers  of  music;  literary  lights  from 
all  over  New  England  joined  the  musical  element 
of  New  York  and  Boston  in  filling  the  Stanhope's 
halls. 

155 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"I  insisted  upon  coming  here  tonight,  Alice, 
even  though  this  over-worked  husband  of  mine 
did  complain  of  a  headache  at  dinner  and  I  was 
loathe  to  have  him  accompany  me.  You  remem 
ber  this  is  the  anniversary  of  my  wedding  and  I 
wished  to  celebrate  the  day,"  said  Lucy  Burton 
to  the  hostess  when  at  last  Burton  had  managed 
to  make  a  way  for  himself  and  wife  through  the 
crowded  rooms  and  reached  the  place  where  Miss 
Stanhope  was  receiving  her  guests. 

"I  am  awfully  glad  you  came,  dear.  We  are 
sure  to  have  a  treat.  Signer  Capello  has  prom 
ised  to  sing  something  from  the  new  opera  by 
Herman  that  has  just  been  produced  in  Berlin," 
and  addressing  Burton  Miss  Stanhope  added, 

"I  trust  that  your  headache  has  disappeared." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Alice,  it  has  entirely  van 
ished  under  the  influence  of  my  charming  wife's 
ministrations,  and  the  brilliant  gathering  about 
me  here,"  replied  Burton. 

"A  slight  pallor  and  circles  around  sad  eyes, 
you  know,  Mr.  Burton,  give  an  exceedingly  in 
teresting  and  romantic  appearance  to  dark  men," 
rejoined  Alice  Stanhope  smiling  in  spite  of  her 

156 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


effort  not  to  do  so  when  she  noticed  the  anxious, 
worshiping  look  with  which  Lucy  regarded  her 
husband. 

"Really,  I  believe  Lucy  is  more  in  love  than  she 
was  a  year  ago,"  said  the  laughing  hostess  as  she 
turned  to  receive  the  German  Ambassador,  who 
had  traveled  all  the  way  from  Washington  in  the 
hope  of  hearing  selections  from  Herman's  new 
opera. 

In  all  that  gathering  of  fair  women  and  gallant 
men,  there  was  no  couple  so  noticeable  as  the 
splendid  pair  who  this  day  one  year  before  were 
wedded. 

As  Burton  and  his  wife  passed  through  the 
crowded  halls  all  eyes  were  turned  toward  them, 
paying  mute  tribute  to  the  exceeding  beauty  of 
both  man  and  woman. 

Burton,  by  one  of  those  sudden  rebounds  of 
spirit  to  which  he  was  subject,  inspired  by  the 
gaiety  about  him  was  in  a  perfect  glow  of  intel 
lectual  fire.  The  brilliancy  of  his  well  trained 
mind  never  shone  more  brightly,  his  wit  scintil 
lated  in  apt  epigrams,  and  incomparably  clever 
metaphors.  He  won  the  heart  of  the  German 

I5Z 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Ambassador  by  discussing  with  the  taste  and  dis 
crimination  of  a  savant  that  distinguished  Teu 
ton's  favorite  composer,  Herman,  using  the  deep 
gutturals  of  the  German  language  with  the  ease 
of  a  native  of  Prussia. 

He  exchanged  bon-mots  with  wicked  old  Coun 
tess  DeMille,  who  declared  him  a  preux  chevalier 
and  the  only  American  whom  she  had  ever  met 
who  spoke  her  language,  so  she  called  French, 
like  a  Parisian. 

Lucy's  beaming  face  and  sparkling  eyes  told 
of  the  rapture  of  pride  and  love  that  filled  her 
heart.  She  looked  indeed  the  "Princess"  as  with 
her  well-turned  head,  with  its  gold-brown 
crown,  held  high,  she  proudly  looked  upon  her 
lover  and  her  lord  and  caught  the  approval  and 
applause  that  appeared  in  every  eye  about  her. 

Never  had  her  husband  seemed  so  much  super 
ior  to  all  other  men,  in  Lucy's  mind,  as  he  did  this 
night.  Wherever  they  paused  in  their  passage 
around  the  rooms,  that  spot  immediately  became 
the  center  of  a  group  of  people  eager  to  render 
homage  to  the  regal  beauty  of  the  young  matron, 
and  to  enjoy  the  wit  and  vivacity  of  the  most 
distingue  man  present. 
158 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Ah,  Mr.  Burton,  I  see  that  the  splendor  of  the 
Rose  of  Dunlap  remains  undiminished,  notwith 
standing  its  transference  from  the  garden  of  its 
early  growth,"  said  the  gallant  Governor  of  the 
old  Bay  State  when  greeting  the  young  couple  as 
they  stopped  near  him. 

"The  splendor  of  the  roses  of  Massachusetts 
is  so  transcendent  that  it  would  remain  unim 
paired  in  any  keeping  how  e'er  unworthy,"  re 
plied  Lucy's  husband,  bowing  gracefully  to  the 
Executive  of  the  State. 

"When  I  saw  you  enter  the  room,  Mrs.  Burton, 
I  hoped  to  see  my  old  friend,  your  grandfather, 
follow.  How  is  James  ?  You  see  I  take  the  liber 
ty  of  still  speaking  of  him  as  I  did  many  years 
before  your  bright  eyes  brought  light  into  the 
Dunlap  mansion." 

"Grandfather  is  very  well,  thank  you,  Gover 
nor,  but  I  failed  to  coax  him  away  from  his  easy 
chair  and  slippers  this  evening;  beside  I  think  he 
was  a  little  'grump,"  as  I  call  it,  about  having  lost 
a  wager  to  a  certain  young  woman  of  about  my 
height ;  he  declared  it  was  not  the  box  of  gloves 
but  loss  of  prestige  that  he  disliked,"  answered 

159 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Lucy  merrily  as  she  looked  up  at  the  amused 
countenance  of  the  Governor. 

"I  fear  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  exercise  my 
official  prerogative  and  give  that  gay  youth, 
James  Dunlap,  a  lecture  if  I  hear  anything  more 
of  his  reckless  wagers,"  said  the  jocose  old  gen 
tleman,  and  then  added : 

"By  the  way,  Mrs.  Burton,  the  newspapers  this 
evening  contain  long  accounts  of  the  magnificent 
conduct  of  a  New  England  sea  captain,  to  whom 
the  King  of  England  has  sent  a  letter  of  congrat 
ulation  and  praise.  As  the  name  given  is  Captain 
John  Dunlap,  I  have  been  wondering  if  it  can  be 
that  stubborn  fellow  whom  your  Uncle  John  and 
I  endeavored  to  convince  that  he  ought  to  enter 
Harvard." 

"It  is  the  same  stubborn,  dear  old  cousin  Jack 
who  preferred  the  sea  to  being  sent  to  Harvard, 
and  he  is  the  best  and  bravest  sailor  on  the  waters 
blue,"  answered  Lucy  quickly,  her  face  flushed  by 
pleasure  at  hearing  Jack's  praises  sung  and  pride 
in  knowing  that  he  was  her  kinsman. 

"It  seems  the  lad  was  wiser  than  we  were  when 
he  refused  to  be  convinced  by  John  and  me.  A 

1 60 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


grand  sailor  might  have  been  spoiled  in  the  mak 
ing  of  a  poor  scholar.  As  long  as  the  sailor  sons 
of  Uncle  Sam  can  number  men  of  your  cousin 
Jack's  kind  among  them  we  need  never  fear  for 
honor  of  the  Gem  of  the  Ocean,"  said  the  Gover 
nor  quite  seriously. 

"I  heartily  endorse  that  sentiment,  your  Excel 
lency,  but  fear  that  on  land  or  sea  it  would  be 
difficult  to  discover  many  men  like  Jack  Dunlap," 
exclaimed  Walter  Burton  warmly. 

"When  is  he  coming  home,  Lucy?  You  know 
that  I  lost  my  heart  the  first  time  that  I  met  your 
bronzed  sailor  cousin,  and  am  waiting  anxiously 
for  my  mariner's  return,"  said  Bessie  Winthrop, 
her  violet-colored  eyes  twinkling  with  the  glad 
ness  of  youth  and  happiness,  En  passant 'she  was 
a  fearful  little  flirt. 

"He  does  not  say  in  his  letters  when  we  may 
expect  him,  but  when  I  write  I'll  tell  him  what 
you  say,  and  if  he  does  not  hurry  home  after  that 
nothing  can  induce  him  to  do  so,"  said  Lucy  as 
she  moved  away  with  her  husband  to  make  room 
for  several  admirers  of  Miss  Winthrop  who  were 
eagerly  awaiting  -an  opportunity  to  pay  court  to 

that  popular  young  lady. 

161 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Just  as  Burton  and  his  wife  left  the  Governor 
and  his  pretty  companion,  the  tuning  of  instru 
ments  announced  the  prelude  to  the  programme 
for  the  evening.  Silence  fell  upon  the  assembly, 
the  gentlemen  sought  seats  for  the  ladies  and  se 
cured  the  most  available  standing  room  for  them 
selves. 

Surely  Signor  Capello  never  sang  so  grandly 
before.  The  superb  harmony  of  Herman's  great 
composition  filled  the  souls  of  that  cultivated 
audience.  The  German  Ambassador  was  in  a 
perfect  ecstasy  of  delight,  and  even  the  least  ap 
preciative  were  impressed,  while  the  hypercritic, 
casting  aside  all  assumption  of  ennui,  became  en 
thusiastic. 

Madame  Cantara  trilled  and  warbled  in  tones 
so  clear,  flute-like  and  sweet  that  to  close  one's 
eyes  was  to  imagine  the  apartment  some  vast  for 
est,  filled  with  a  myriad  of  feathered  songsters, 
vying  with  each  other  for  woodland  supremacy  in 
Apollo's  blessed  sphere. 

Miss  Stanhope's  musicale  was  a  pronounced 
and  splendid  success.  Nothing  approaching  it 
had  entertained  Boston's  fastidious  "four  hun 
dred"  that  season. 

162 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Burton  declared  that  it  was  the  most  delightful 
function  he  had  attended  in  years,  when  Lucy, 
enwrapped  in  furs,  was  closely  nestled  at  his 
side  in  the  carriage  after  the  entertainment  was 
over.  Burton  was  par  excellence  a  judge  of  such 
affairs.  In  fact,  he  had  been  accorded  the  position 
of  arbiter  ele gantiarum  by  a  tacit  understanding 
among  people  of  taste  and  culture  in  Boston's 
elite  society. 

It  was  among  such  scenes,  surroundings,  en 
vironments  and  society  as  above  described  that 
Burton's  life  had  been  passed  since  coming  to 
America.  It  was  in  this  joyous  atmosphere  that 
the  first  year  of  Lucy's  married  life  glided  by  so 
rapidly  that  the  length  of  time  seemed  difficult 
for  her  to  realize.  It  was  like  the  dream  of  a  sum 
mer's  day,  so  bright,  cloudless  and  calm,  so  frag 
rant  with  the  perfume  of  love's  early  blossoms, 

that  its  passage  was  as  that  of  a  fleeting  shadow. 
******* 

The  sinking  sun  cast  lengthening  shadows 
across  Manila  Bay,  where  swinging  peacefully 
at  their  anchors  lay  the  great  war  ships  of  several 
nations,  and  where  the  .tall  masts  of  a  fleet  of 

163 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


merchantmen  caused  bars  of  shade  to  stripe  the 
burnished  waters  of  the  Bay. 

The  starry  flag  of  the  great  Republic  had  re 
ceived  that  salute,  ever  loyally  given  by  the  sons 
of  Columbia,  as  the  sun  sank  beneath  the  horizon, 
and  the  bugle  blew  its  farewell  to  the  departing 
orb  of  day. 

Four  majestic,  floating  fortresses,  on  whose 
decks  stood  uncovered  crews  as  the  proud  flag  of 
the  union  descended,  gave  notice  to  the  world  of 
the  might  of  that  young  giant  of  the  west  that 
held  dominion  in  the  Philippines. 

Striding  along  in  the  rapidly  darkening  twi 
light,  up  the  main  street  of  Manila,  walked  one 
who  would  have  been  known  as  a  sailor  by  his 
swinging,  rolling  gait,  even  without  the  nautical 
cut  and  material  of  the  clothing  that  he  wore. 

As  he  approached  the  newly  erected,  palacious 
American  hotel,  around  which  ran  a  broad 
veranda  filled  with  tables  and  chairs,  the  chief  re 
sort  of  the  army  and  naval  officers  stationed  at 
Manila,  a  voice  cried  from  the  balcony  above 
him: 

"Jack  Dunlap,  by  all  that  is  marvelous !" 

164 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


The  sailor-man  looked  up  and  with  an  excla 
mation  of  pleased  recognition,  shouted: 

"Tom  Maxon,  by  all  that  is  fortunate !" 

"Come  up  here  this  instant,  you  sea-dog,  wet 
your  whistle  and  swap  yarns  with  me,"  called  the 
first  speaker,  rising  from  the  table  at  which  he 
was  seated  and  hurrying  to  the  top  of  the  half 
dozen  steps  that  rose  from  the  sidewalk  to  the 
entrance  on  the  veranda. 

The  two  men  shook  hands  with  the  warmth 
and  cordiality  of  old  cronies,  when  the  sailor 
reached  the  balcony.  The  meeting  was  evidently 
as  agreeable  as  it  was  unexpected. 

The  man  who  had  been  seated  on  the  veranda, 
when  the  sailor  approached,  was  apparently  of 
the  same  age  as  the  friend  whose  coming  he  had 
hailed  with  delight.  He,  too,  was  evidently  a 
son  of  Neptune,  for  he  wore  the  cap  and  undress 
uniform  of  a  lieutenant  in  the  United  States 
Navy. 

He  was  a  big,  fine  man  on  whose  good-looking, 
tanned  face  a  smile  seemed  more  natural,  and, 
in  fact,  was  more  often  seen  than  a  frown. 

"Jack,  old  man,  you  can't  imagine  how  glad  I 

165 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


am  to  run  afoul  of  you.  Had  the  choice  been  left 
to  me  as  to  whom  I  would  choose  to  walk  up  the 
street  just  now,  I'd  have  bawled  out  'Good  old 
Jack  Dunlap!'  Well,  how  are  you  anyway? 
Where've  you  been?  and  how  are  all  in  Boston? 
But  first  let's  have  a  drink;  what  shall  it  be, 
bully?" 

All  of  these  questions  and  ejaculations  were 
made  while  the  naval  man  still  held  Jack's  hand 
and  was  towing  him  along  like  a  huge,  puffing 
tug  toward  the  table  from  which  the  officer 
sprang  up  to  welcome  his  companion. 

"By  Jove, Tom,  give  me  time  to  breathe;  you've 
hurled  a  regular  broadside  of  questions  into  my 
hull.  Haul  off  and  hold  a  minute;  cease  firing! 
as  you  fighters  say,"  expostulated  our  old  ac 
quaintance,  Captain  Jack,  as  he  was  fairly  shoved 
into  a  chair  at  the  table  and  opposite  the  laugh 
ing  and  red-faced  lieutenant. 

"Come  here,  waiter,"  called  Maxon  to  a  pass 
ing  attendant,  in  high  glee  over  Jack's  cry  for 
quarter  and  his  own  good  luck  in  meeting  an  old 
chum  when  he  was  especially  lonely  and  eager  to 
have  a  talk  about  home  and  friends. 

166 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Bring  us  a  bottle  of  champagne  and  let  it  be 
as  cold  as  the  Admiral's  heart  when  a  poor  devil 
of  a  lieutenant  asks  for  a  few  day's  shore  leave." 

"Now,  my  water-logged  consort,  we  will  first 
and  foremost  drink  in  a  brimming  bumper  of 
'Fizz'  the  golden  dome  in  Boston  and  the 
bonny-bright  eyes  of  the  beauties  .that  beam  on 
it,"  exclaimed  jolly  Tom  Maxon,  bubbling  over 
with  happiness  at  having  just  the  man  he  wished 
•to  talk  about  Boston  with. 

"I  say !  Tom,  have  you  been  studying  up  on  al 
literation  ?  You  rang  in  all  the  B's  of  the  hive  in 
that  toast,"  said  the  merchant  skipper,  emptying 
his  glass  in  honor  of  Boston  and  her  fair  daugh 
ters. 

"I  don't  require  thought  or  study  to  become 
eloquent  when  the  'Hub'  and  her  beauties  be  the 
theme,  but  you  just  up  anchor  and  sail  ahead  giv 
ing  an  account  of  yourself,  my  hearty,"  Tom  re 
plied  with  great  gusto. 

"To  begin,  then,  as  the  typical  story  writer 
does,  one  November  day  some  thirteen  months 
ago,  I  sailed  away  (I've  caught  the  complaint. 
I  came  near  making  a  rhyme)  from  Boston  in  the 

167  • 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


good  ship  'Adams.'  When  a  week  out  of  harbor 
as  per  instructions  from  the  house  of  Dunlap,  I 
unsealed  my  papers  to  find  that  the  ship  had  been 
presented  to  me  by  my  kinsmen,  the  Dunlap 
brothers." 

"Stop!  Hold,  my  hearty,  until  we  drink  the 
health  of  the  jolly  old  twins.  May  their  shadows 
never  grow  less  and  may  the  good  Lord  send 
along  such  kinsmen  to  poor  Tom  Maxon,"  inter 
rupted  the  irreverent  Tom,  filling  the  glasses  and 
proceeding  to  honor  the  toast  by  promptly  drain 
ing  his. 

Jack  and  Tom  had  been  pupils  in  the  same 
school  in  Boston  when  they  were  boys.  Their 
tastes  and  dispositions  being  much  alike  they  be 
came  chums  and  warm  friends.  Like  young 
ducks,  both  of  the  lads  naturally  took  to  the 
water.  When  they  had  gotten  through  with  the 
grammar-school  an  appointment  to  the  Annapolis 
Naval  Academy  was  offered  to  young  Maxon  by 
the  representative  of  his  Congressional  district, 
which  he  joyfully  accepted,  and  hence  was  now  a 
United  States  officer.  Jack  had  entered  the  High 
School  and  later  the  merchant  marine  service. 

168 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Though  seeing  but  little  of  each  other  after 
their  first  separation,  the  same  feeling  of  friend 
ship  and  comradeship  was  maintained  between 
Jack  and  Tom  that  had  existed  when  as  Boston 
schoolboys  they  chummed  together,  and  when 
ever,  at  rare  intervals,  they  were  fortunate  enough 
to  meet  they  mutually  threw  off  all  the  reserve 
that  had  come  to  them  with  age  and  became  Bos 
ton  boys  once  again. 

"Now,  heave  ahead,  my  bully-boy !"  cried  Tom, 
putting  down  his  empty  wine  glass. 

"In  addition  to  the  gift  of  the  ship  from  the 
firm,  I  found  that  my  old  cousin  John  had  per 
sonally  presented  me  with  a  large  part  of  the 
ship's  cargo." 

"Again  hold!  you  lucky  sea-dog!  Here's  to 
dear  old  Cousin  John,  and  God  bless  him !"  called 
Tom  gleefully,  his  generous  sailor-soul  as  happy 
over  the  good  fortune  of  his  friend  as  if  he  him 
self  had  been  the  beneficiary  of  Mr.  John  Dun- 
lap's  munificence,  again  pledging  Jack's  kind 
kinsman  in  a  glass  of  iced  wine. 

"With  all  my  heart  I  say,  amen!  Tom,  God 
never  made  better  men  and  more  liberal  kinsmen 

169 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


than  the  '].  Dunlaps/  "  said  Jack  earnestly  as  he 
began  again  his  recital. 

"When  I  arrived  in  Melbourne  I  disposed  of 
my  cargo  through  our  agents,  loaded  and  sailed 
for  Liverpool,  returned  to  Melbourne,  took  on  a 
cargo  for  Manila,  and  here  I  am  drinking  to  long 
life  and  good  health  to  my  two  old  kinsmen  with 
my  school  fellow  Tom  Maxon." 

"And  the  future  programme  is  what"  said  the 
lieutenant. 

"You  have  left  out  lots  about  yourself,  that  I 
know  of,  concerning  your  past  movements,  so 
•try  to  be  truthful  about  your  future  plans,"  con 
tinued  Maxon,  assuming  an  inquisitorial  air. 

"All  right,  my  knowing  father  confessor," 
answered  Dunlap,  laughing. 

"I  have  done  well  as  far  as  making  money  is 
concerned,  which  statement  I  wish  added  to  my 
former  deposition.  Oh!  most  wise  judge;  I  pro 
pose  sailing  within  the  week  for  Hong-kong, 
thence  to  San  Francisco,  from  the  latter  port  I 
desire  to  clear  for  Boston,  in  God's  country,  stop 
ping,  however,  at  Port  au  Prince,  Haiti,  both  as 
a  matter  of  business  and  also  with  the  design  of 

170 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


personally  thanking  my  kind  godfather  for  his 
gifts.  Finally  I  hope  to  reach  New  England  and 
be  with  my  dear  mother  while  yet  the  Yankee 
hills  are  blooming  with  summer  flowers.  One 
word  further  and  my  story  is  finished.  My  ob 
ject  in  returning  to  Boston  is  to  induce  my 
mother  to  return  with  me  to  Australia,  where  I 
have  purchased  some  property  and  where  I  de 
sire  to  make  my  home  in  future — finis — " 

"Fairly  well  told,  my  bold  buccaneer;  however, 
I  disapprove  of  your  making  Australia  your 
home.  Now,  sir,  what  about  saving  a  few  small 
pox  patients,  emigrants,  and  such  like,  and  re 
ceiving  a  letter  from  H.  M.  King  of  England,  and 
such  trifles  as  we  read  of  in  the  newspaper?"  de 
manded  Tom,  sententiously. 

"Oh!  That  just  happened,  and  there  has  been 
too  much  said  about  it  to  find  a  place  on  my  log 
book,"  replied  Jack,  shortly,  coloring  just  a  shade. 

"I'm! — well,  no  matter — I  don't  agree  with 
you,  but  I  will  shake  your  hand  once  again  and 
say  that  I  find  -my  old  chum  as  modest  as  I  al 
ways  knew  him  to  be  brave,"  rejoined  Tom 
Maxon,  rising,  reaching  over  and  grasping  Jack's 

171 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


hand,  and  bowing  gravely  and  respectfully  as  he 
held  it. 

Jack's  face  was  now  all  fire-red,  as  he  said  in 
great  embarrassment: 

"Oh,  Pshaw,  slack  up,  Tom,  haul  off." 

"You  know  what  the  Admiral  said  when  he 
read  the  account  of  what  you  had  done?"  cried 
out  Tom  when  he  settled  back  in  his  chair. 

"Of  course,  you  don't,  but  it's  a  fine  ram  at  the 
merchant  marine.  The  Admiral  thinks  that  an 
officer  for  sea  service  can't  be  made  except  at 
Annapolis.  When  he  read  of  what  you  had  done, 
he  exclaimed:  'That  fellow  is  almost  good 
enough  to  be  an  officer  in  the  United  States 
Navy.'  The  Executive  officer  who  heard  the  Ad 
miral  repeated  it,  and  ever  since  the  fellows  of 
our  mess,  who  hate  some  of  the  'snobs'  that  An 
napolis  sends  to  us,  have  been  quietly  poking  fun 
at  the  old  man  about  it." 

"Now,  will  Lieutenant  Thomas  Maxon,  U.  S. 
N.,  in  all  the  glory  of  his  Annapolis  seamanship, 
give  an  account  of  himself?"  broke  in  Jack,  anx 
ious  to  escape  further  mention  of  his  own  affairs. 

"The  last  time  I    saw   you,    Tom,    you    were 

172 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL1 


dancing  at  the  end  of  Bessie  Winthrop's  hawser. 
Though  I  had  never,  at  the  time,  met  your  charm 
er,  I  thought  her  a  pretty  craft." 

"That's  it!  Now  you  touch  the  raw  spot!" 
cried  Tom. 

"I  was  stationed  at  Boston,  and  went  about 
some  little.  I  met  Bert  Winthrop's  sister  and, 
like  an  ass  of  a  sailor  that  I  am,  fell  in  love  with 
her  at  the  first  turn  of  the  wheel.  Well,  I  rolled 
around  after  the  beauty  like  a  porpoise  in  the 
wake  of  a  dolphin  for  the  whole  season.  Finally 
I  mustered  up  courage  to  bring  the  chase  to  a 
climax  and  got  a  most  graceful  conge  for  my 
temerity,  whereupon  I  retired  in  bad  order,  and 
was  rejoiced  when  assigned  to  the  battleship 
Delaware  and  sent  to  sea." 

As  the  rollicking  sailor  ended  his  story,  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  began  softly  singing  in 
a  sentimental  tone,  "Oh !  Bessie,  you  have  broken 
my  heart." 

"Well,  I'll  go  bail  that  the  fracture  won't  kill 
you,  you  incorrigible  joker,"  said  Jack,  interrupt 
ing  the  flow  of  Maxon's  sentimentality. 

"See,  now,  our  best  friends  never  take  us 

173 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


seriously,  and  sympathize  with  us  when  we  suf 
fer,"  said  the  lieutenant  dolefully. 

"But  to  continue  my  sad  story.  I  was  ordered 
to  the  U.  S.  S.  Delaware,  flag-ship  of  the  Asiatic 
fleet.  Admiral  Snave  can  out-swear  Beelzebub, 
has  the  sympathy  of  a  pirate,  and  would  work  up 
all  the  old  iron  of  a  fleet  if  there  was  as  much  in 
it  as  in  the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania.  So  your 
poor,  delicate  friend  is  tempted  to  ask  to  be  re 
tired  on  account  of  physical  disability."  So  say 
ing,  Tom  began  roaring  with  laughter  so  health 
ful  that  it  shook  his  stalwart  frame. 

"Hold  though!"  exclaimed  the  U.  S.  officer, 
stopping  in  the  midst  of  his  outburst  of  merri 
ment,  suddenly  thinking  of  something  omitted. 

"You  must  understand  that  we  all  admire  the 
Admiral  hugely.  He  is  a  magnificent  officer,  and 
a  fighter  to  the  end  of  his  plume;  carries  a  chip 
on  his  shoulder  when  he  imagines  anyone  is 
spoiling  for  a  fight,  or  even  looks  crossways  at 
grand  Old  Glory." 

Thus  the  two  friends  talked  on,  relating  their 
experiences,  joking  each  other,  and  laughing  in 
that  careless  happy  way,  common  alike  to  school 
boys  and  those  who  sail  the  sea, 

174 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Captain  Dunlap  declared  that  this  berth  was 
good  enough  for  him,  that  he  would  drop  his 
anchor  right  there,  and  calling  a  waiter  proceeded 
to  order  everything  on  the  menu  for  dinner, 
telling  the  waiter  to  serve  it  where  they  were  and 
serve  slowly  so  that  they  might  enjoy  a  rambling 
conversation  while  they  dined. 

Eating,  drinking,  talking  and  smoking,  the 
chums  of  boyhood  days  sat  for  hours,  until  the 
streets  became,  as  was  the  veranda,  almost 
deserted.  Suddenly  in  an  interval  of  silence  as 
they  puffed  their  cigars,  a  piercing  scream  dis 
turbed  the  quiet  of  the  street  below.  Again  and 
again  was  the  cry  repeated  in  an  agonized  female 
voice. 

Both  men  sprang  to  their  feet  and  peered  along 
the  dark  avenue  that  ran  toward  the  bay.  About 
a  block  away  they  discerned  just  within  the  outer 
circle  of  light  cast  by  an  electric  burner  a  strug 
gling  mass  of  men.  At  the  instant  that  Jack  and 
Tom  discovered  whence  came  the  cries,  a  figure 
broke  from  the  crowd  and  ran  screaming  through 
the  illuminated  spot  on  the  avenue  pursued  by  a 
half  dozen  men  wearing  the  Russian  naval  uni- 

175 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


form.  The  pursued  figure  was  that  of  a  half  nude 
female. 

With  an  angry  growl,  Jack  Dunlap  placed  one 
hand  on  the  low  railing  around  the  veranda  and 
cleared  it  at  a  bound,  landing  on  the  sidewalk  be 
low,  he  broke  into  a  run,  and  dashed  toward  the 
group  of  men  under  the  electric  light,  who  were 
struggling  with  the  person  whom  they  had  pur 
sued  and  recaptured. 

"The  flag  follows  trade  in  this  case,"  cried 
Maxon,  who  would  joke  even  on  his  deathbed,  as 
he,  too,  sprang  to  the  pavement  and  raced  after 
Jack. 

The  brutal  Finnish  sailors  of  the  Russian  man- 
of-war  in  Manila  Bay  swore  to  their  mess-mates 
that  ten  gigantic  Yankees  had  fallen  upon  them 
and  taken  away  the  Malay  girl.  They  thus  ac 
counted  for  their  broken  noses  and  discolored 
optics. 

Truth  is,  that  it  was  a  rush;  the  working  of 
four  well-trained  Yankee  arms  like  the  piston 
rods  of  a  high-speed  engine.  Outraged  American 
manhood  and  old  Aryan  courage  against  the 
spirit  of  brutal  lustfulness,  ignorance  and  race  in 
feriority. 

176 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"I  say,  Jack,"  cried  out  Maxon  as  he  raised  his 
face  from  the  basin  in  which  he  had  been  bathing 
a  bruise,  "Why  don't  you  go  in  for  the  P.  R. 
championship?  You  must  be  a  sweet  skipper  for 
a  crew  to  go  rusty  with !  Why,  Matey,  you  had 
the  whole  gang  going  before  I  even  reached  you. 
Look  here,  sonny,  you  are  just  hell  and  a  hurri 
cane  in  a  shindy  of  that  kind." 

"Well,  I  tell  you,  Tom,"  called  Jack  from  the 
next  room,  where,  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
he  was  binding  a  handkerchief  around  the  bleed 
ing  knuckles  of  his  left  hand. 

"That  kind  of  thing  always  sets  my  blood 
boiling,  but  that  in  a  city  under  our  flag  an  out 
rage  of  that  kind  should  be  attempted  made  me 
wild.  I  guess  from  the  looks  of  my  hands  that 
maybe  I  did  punch  rather  hard."  Rising,  Jack 
walked  to  the  open  door  between  the  two  bed 
rooms  and  added: 

"I  don't  mind  just  a  plain  fight,  or  even  some 
times  a  murder,  but  when  it  comes  to  a  brute  as 
saulting  a  woman  or  child,  I'm  damned  if  I  don't 
become  like  one  of  Victor  Hugo's  characters,  'I 
see  red.'  Temper  seems  to  surge  in  my  very 
blood.' 

177 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Jack's  face,  as  he  spoke,  wore  an  angry  scowl, 
to  which 'the  earnest  gesticulations  with  his  ban 
daged  fists  gave  double  meaning. 

"Of  course  it  surges  in  your  blood,  old  chap, 
as  it  does  on  such  occasions  in  mine  and  every 
other  decent  descendant  of  Shem  and  Japheth  on 
earth,"  replied  Tom  Maxon. 


I78 


XL 

THE  Scottish  Bard  has  written  that  to  see 
fair  Melrose  Abbey  a-right,  one  must 
visit  it  in  the  moon's  pale  light.   To  see 
New  England  in  its  greatest  glory  one  must  visit 
that  section  of  hallowed  memories  in  the  summer 
season. 

Then  it  is  that  granite  hills  are  wrapped  in 
emerald  mantles.  Then  it  is  that  hill-sides,  slopes 
and  meadows  are  dimpled  with  countless  daisies, 
peeping  enticingly  from  the  face  of  smiling  na 
ture.  Then  it  is  brooks,  released  from  winter's 
icy  bondage,  laugh,  sing,  dance  and  gambol  like 
merry  maidens  in  some  care-free  frolic. 

August,  in  the  second  year  of  Lucy  Burton's 
married  life,  found  Dunlap's  mansion  still  occu 
pied  by  the  entire  family.  True,  the  Dunlap  estate 
lay  in  the  most  elevated  portion  of  the  suburbs 
of  Boston,  and  the  house  stood  in  the  center  of 

179 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


extensive  grounds  almost  park-like  in  extent  and 
arrangement,  still  it  was  unusual  for  the  house 
to  be  occupied  by  the  family  at  that  season  of  the 
year. 

Generations  of  Dunlaps  had  sought  relief  from 
city  life  and  bustle  during  the  month  of  August, 
either  among  the  Berkshire  Hills,  where  an  ornate 
villa  had  been  owned  by  them  for  decades,  or  at 
Old  Orchard,  where  their  summer  home  was 
rather  a  palace  than  a  cottage,  though  so  called  by 
the  family.  Burton,  too,  had  a  fine  establishment 
at  Newport ;  yet  this  eventful  August  found  the 
family  in  their  city  residence. 

Many  other  things  unusual  attracted  attention 
and  caused  comment  among  the  associates  of 
members  of  the  Dunlap  household.  Burton  and 
Lucy  had  been  noticeably  absent  during  the  past 
few  months  from  those  public  functions  to  which, 
by  their  presence,  they  had  formerly  given  so 
much  eclat. 

The  very  clerks  in  the  office  of  J.  Dunlap  com 
mented  upon  the  jubilant  spirit  that  had  taken 
possession  of,  the  always  genial,  manager.  Chap 
man  regarded  his  apparent  joyousness  with  sus- 

180 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


picion,  and  of  all  the  office  forces  alone  seemed 
displeased  with  its  presence. 

To  intimate  friends  Burton  spoke  of  selling  the 
"Eyrie,"  saying  that  it  was  of  no  further  use  or 
pleasure  to  him;  that  for  months  he  had  only 
been  near  it  to  select  some  choice  flowers  from 
the  conservatory  for  the  vases  that  adorned  his 
wife's  apartments. 

Mr.  James  Dunlap,  ever  the  kindest,  most  con 
siderate  of  beings,  the  gentlest  of  gentlemen,  had 
become  so  solicitious  concerning  his  grand-daugh 
ter's  comfort  and  care  as  to  appear  almost  old 
womanish.  The  anxiety  he  displayed  about  all 
that  tended  to  Lucy's  welfare  was  absolutely 
pathetic. 

Walter  Burton's  demeanor  toward  his  young 
wife  might,  for  all  men,  serve  as  a  model  of  de 
voted,  thoughtful  deportment  on  the  part  of  hus 
bands.  To  amuse  and  entertain  her  seemed  his 
all-absorbing  idea  and  object.  To  exercise  his 
brilliant  mental  gifts  in  gay  and  enlivening  con 
versation  was  his  chief  pleasure.  To  use  all  the 
great  musical  talent  that  he  possessed,  to  drive 
any  momentary  shadow  of  sadness  from  her 

181 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


spirit.  To  stroll  about  the  garden  in  the  moon 
light,  again  whispering  those  words  of  love  by 
which  he  had  first  won  her,  was  blissful  occu 
pation  to  him. 

Even  good  old  Uncle  John  in  far-off  Haiti  im 
bibed  the  spirit  that  seemed  all  pervading  in  the 
realm  about  the  young  matron.  Great  hampers  of 
tropical  fruits,  plants  and  flowers  came  by  trebly- 
paid  expressage  from  the  West  Indies,  speed 
alone  being  considered.  They  must  be  fresh  when 
offered  to  Lucy.  Then,  too,  almost  daily  mes 
sages  came  over  the  cable  from  Haiti,  "How  are 
all  today,"  signed  "John,"  and  it  was  ordered  at 
the  office  that  each  day  should  go  a  message  to 
Port  au  Prince,  unless  especially  forbidden,  say 
ing,  "All  is  well,"  this  to  be  signed  "James." 

Mrs.  Church,  the  most  sedate,  composed  and 
stately  of  old  gentlewomen,  too,  is  in  a  flutter  of 
suppressed  excitement,  frequently  closeted  in 
deep  and  mysterious  consultations  with  medical 
men  and  motherly  looking  women;  giving 
strange  orders  about  the  preparation  of  certain 
dishes  for  the  table,  driving  the  chef  almost  dis 
tracted  by  forbidding  sauces  that  should  always 
182 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


accompany  some  favorite  entree  of  that  tyrant. 

A  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Dunlap  mansion  has 
been  newly  decorated;  nothing  like  these  decora 
tions  has  ever  been  seen  before  in  Boston.  In 
elegance,  taste  and  beauty  they  are  the  ne  plus 
ultra  of  decorative  art.  One,  while  in  the  sacred 
precincts  of  the  recently  remodeled  apartments, 
might  readily  imagine  that  spring  had  been  cap 
tured  and  fettered  here  to  make  its  sweet,  bright 
presence  perpetual  in  this  favored  place.  Colors 
of  the  tinted  sun-beam  mingled  with  the  peach 
blossom's  tender  shade  to  make  the  spot  a  bower 
of  beauty  wherein  a  smiling  cupid  might  pause 
and  fold  his  wings  to  slumber,  forgetful  of  his 
couch  of  pink  pearl  shell. 

The  cultured,  artistic,  delicate  taste  of  Bos 
ton's  arbiter  elegantiarum  never  produced  any 
thing  approaching  the  exquisite  blending  of 
colors  and  unique,  airy,  harmonious  fittings  seen 
in  this,  the  ideal  conception  of  the  abode  of 
angels. 

The  delicacy  and  tenderness  of  Lucy's  refined 
and  loving  spirit  contributed  to  create  an  inde 
finable  feeling  that  this  was  the  chosen  spot  where 

183 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


innocence,  purity  and  love  should  seek  repose. 
Her  womanly  instinct  had  added  soft  shadings  to 
art's  perfect  handiwork. 

The  great  sea  shell,  half  opened,  made  of  shin 
ing  silver,  lined  with  the  pearly  product  of  the 
Eastern  Isles,  in  which  lie,  soft  and  white  as 
snow,  downy  cushions,  filled  from  the  breasts  of 
Orkney's  far-famed  fowls,  and  these  be-trimmed 
with  lace  in  tracery  like  frost  on  window  pane,  in 
texture  so  gossamery  and  light  that  the  brief 
span  of  life  seems  all  too  short  in  which  to  weave 
one  inch,  must  surely  be  the  nest  wherein  some 
heaven-sent  cherub  shall  nestle  down  in  sleep. 

Some  sprite  from  fairy-land  alone  may  make  a 
toilet  with  the  miniature  articles  of  Etruscan 
gold,  bejeweled  with  gems  of  azure-hued  tur- 
quois  that  fill  the  gilded  dressing  case. 

The  chiffoniers,  tables,  chairs  and  stands  are 
all  inlaid  with  woods  of  the  rarest  kinds  and 
colors,  with  ivory  and  polished  pearl  shells  inter 
woven  in  queerly  conceived  mosaic;  mirrors  of 
finest  plate  here  and  there  are  arranged  that  they 
may  catch  the  beautous  image  of  the  cherubic  oc 
cupant  of  this  bijou  bower,  and  countlessly  re- 

184 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


produce  its  angelic  features;  urns  and  basins  of 
transparent  china-ware,  in  the  production  of 
which  France  and  Germany  have  surpassed  all 
former  efforts,  beautified  by  the  brushes  of 
world-renowned  artists,  furnish  vessels  in  which 
the  rosy,  laughing  face  and  dimpled  limbs  may 
lave. 

The  Western  hills  have  cooled  the  eager  glance 
of  the  August  sun.  Lucy,  softly  humming  as  she 
assorts  and  arranges  a  great  basket  of  choice  buds 
and  blossoms  just  arrived  from  the  "Eyrie,"  is 
seated  alone  in  a  fantastic  garden  pagoda,  which, 
trellised  by  climbing  rose  bushes,  stands  within 
the  grounds  of  the  Dunlap  estate. 

As  she  rocks  back  and  forth  in  the  low  chair 
that  is  placed  there  for  her  comfort,  little  gleams 
of  sunshine  sifting  through  the  screen  of  roses 
wander  amidst  her  gold-brown  tresses  and  spot 
the  filmy  gown  of  white  she  wears  with  silver 
splashes.  As  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  gent 
ly  swaying  leaves  and  roses  dance  about  her,  she 
seems  surrounded  by  hosts  of  cherubim  in  frolic 
some  attendance  on  her.  Some  thought  of  that 
nature  came  to  her,  for  she  let  her  hands  lie  still 

185 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


in  her  lap  among  the  blossoms  and  watched  the 
ever  fleeting,  changeful  rays  of  sunlight  and 
shade  that  like  an  April  shower  fell  upon  her. 
Then  she  smiled  as  at  some  unseen  spirit  and 
smiling  grew  pensive. 

The  limpid  light  in  Lucy's  eyes,  as  gazing  into 
the  future  she  sees  the  coming  glory  of  her  wo 
manhood,  is  that  same  light  that  shone  along  the 
road  from  Galilee  to  Bethlehem,  when  she,  most 
blessed  of  women  for  all  time,  rode  humbly  on  an 
ass  to  place  an  eternal  monarch  on  a  throne. 

That  light  in  Lucy's  pensive  hazel  eyes,  that 
gentle,  hopeful  expectant  look  on  her  sweet  face, 
has,  from  the  time  that  men  were  born  on  earth 
subdued  the  fiery  rage  of  angry  braves  in  mortal 
strife  engaged,  has  turned  brutality  into  cower 
ing  shame,  and  caused  the  harshest,  roughest  and 
most  savage  of  the  human  kind  to  smooth  the 
brow,  soften  the  voice  and  gently  move  aside,  ren 
dering  ready  homage  to  a  being  raised  higher  far 
than  the  throne  of  the  mightiest  king  on  earth. 

As  she,  who  chambered  with  the  cattle  on 
Judah's  hills,  opened  the  passage  from  the  groan 
ing  earth  to  realms  of  eternal  bliss  by  what  she 

186 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


gave  to  men,  so  ever  those  crowned  with  that 
pellucid  halo  of  expected  maternity  stand  holding 
ajar  the  gates  that  bar  the  path  from  man  to  that 
mysterious  source  of  life  and  soul  called  God. 

It  is  woman  in  her  grandest  glory,  who  draws 
man  and  his  Maker  near  together,  with  arms  out 
stretched  and  hands  extended  she  grasps  man 
and  reaches  up  toward  the  Divine  Author  of  our 
beings. 

In  simplest  attire  and  humblest  station  she 
sanctifies  the  spot  she  stands  upon.  When  most 
beset  by  want  or  danger  there  lives  no  man 
worthy  of  the  name,  who  could  refuse  to  heed  her 
lightest  call. 

Oh!  that  wistful,  yearning,  hopeful,  tender, 
loving  look  that  transfigured  Lucy's  sweet  face 
until  resemblance  came  to  it,  to  that  face  that 
has  employed  the  souls,  hearts  and  hands  of 
those  most  gifted  by  high  heaven  with  pen  and 
brush. 

Out  of  this  trance-like  blissfulness  the  pensive 
dreamer  was  aroused  by  the  coming  of  her  ever 
constant  guardian,  her  grandfather,  who  told  her 
that  Miss  Arabella  Chapman  had  called,  bringing 

187 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


some  offering  that  could  be  placed  in  no  other 
hand  than  that  of  the  young  matron. 

Away  hastened  Lucy  to  greet  the  time-worn 
maiden,  but  fresh-hearted  friend,  and  to  hurry 
with  her  up  to  a  sealed  and  sacred  apartment, 
over  whose  threshold  no  male  foot  must  ever  step, 
wherein  was  hidden  heaping  trays  and  shelves  of 
doll-like  garments  of  marvelous  texture  and 
make,  articles  the  names  of  which  no  man  ever 
yet  has  learned  to  call,  all  so  cunningly  devised 
as  to  create  the  need  of  lace,  embroidery  or  such 
matter  on  every  edge  and  corner. 

Silky  shawls  and  fleecy  wraps,  and  funny  little 
caps  of  spider-spun  lace,  and  socks  of  soft  stuff 
so  small  that  Lucy's  tiny  thumb  could  scarce  find 
room  therein,  all  and  much  more  than  man  can 
tell  were  here  stored  carefully  away  and  only 
shown  to  closest  friends  by  the  fair  warder  of  that 
holy  keep. 

And,  oh !  the  loving,  jealous  care  of  Lucy.  No 
hand  but  her  own  could  fold  these  small  gar 
ments  just  right.  What  awful  calamity  might 
befall  should  one  crease  be  awry  or  disturbed ;  no 
eye  so  well  could  note  some  need  in  that  dainty, 

188 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


diminutive  collection  of  fairy  underwear  as  hers ; 
no  breast  could  beat  so  tenderly  as  hers  as  close 
she  pressed,  fondled  and  kissed  the  little  gowns 
for  elfin  wear. 

Who  would  for  all  the  gold  coined  on  earth 
rob  her  of  one  jot  or  tittle  of  her  half-girlish,  all- 
womanly  joy  and  jealous  care?  Not  one  who 
ever  whispered  the  word  Mother ! 

That  night  the  watchman  and  his  faithful  dog 
who  guarded  the  Dunlap  house  and  grounds, 
saw  at  the  unseemly  hour  of  two  o'clock  many 
lights  suddenly  appear  within  the  mansion.  The 
shadow  of  the  family  physician,  white-haired  and 
wise,  flits  by  the  windows  of  the  room  which,  for 
some  weeks,  he  has  occupied.  Mrs.  Church  in 
wrapper,  lamp  in  hand,  hastens  by  the  great  hall 
window  and  ascends  the  stairs,  accompanied  by 
an  elderly  woman,  who  a  month  before  came  to 
live  in  the  mansion.  Soon  a  window  on  the  bal 
cony  is  raised  and  Mr.  James  Dunlap  in  dressing 
gown  and  slippers  steps  out,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Burton,  who  seems  too  nervous  to  notice  Mr. 
Dunlap's  soothing  hand  placed  on  his  shoulder. 

Soon  the  bell,  that  warns  him  to  open  wide  the 

189 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


outer  gate,  is  rung,  and  then  the  watchman  and 
his  dog  see  no  more  of  the  commotion  within  the 
house.  As  he  holds  back  the  gate,  he  asks  of  the 
coachman,  who,  with  the  dog-cart  and  the  horse, 
Dark  Dick,  is  racing  by: 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  In  reply  he  only  catches 
the  words : 

"Another  nurse,  d quick !" 

A  standing  order  of  the  house  of  J.  Dunlap 
was  that  should  at  any  time  neither  J.  Dunlap  nor 
the  manager  appear  by  the  noon  hour,  the  super 
intendent,  Mr.  Chapman,  should  take  cab  and 
hasten  to  the  residence  of  Mr.  James  Dunlap  for 
instructions  concerning  transactions  that  pressed 
for  immediate  attentio-n. 

Five  minutes  after  noon,  on  the  day  when 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  private  watch 
man  had  seen  lights  appear  within  the  Dunlap 
mansion,  David  Chapman  was  seated  in  a  cab 
speeding  toward  his  employer's  residence. 

As  the  cab  turned  the  corner  on  the  avenue  that 
ran  before  the  gate  of  the  Dunlap  place,  the 
horse's  hoof-beats  were  silenced.  Chapman  looked 
out;  the  straw-carpeted  pavement  told  the  whole 

190 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


story.  He  ordered  the  driver  to  stop  his  horse, 
and  springing  from  the  vehicle  the  superintend 
ent,  walking,  proceeded  the  balance  of  the  dis 
tance. 

The  vigil  and  anxiety  of  the  past  night  had  told 
fearfully  on  well-preserved  Mrs.  Church,  thought 
Chapman  as  he  noted  her  drawn,  white  and 
frightened  face,  and  listened  to  the  awed  tone  of 
her  voice,  as  she  told  him  that  a  boy  was  born  to 
Lucy ;  that  she  was  very  ill ;  that  Mr.  Burton  was 
troubled  and  wretched  over  the  danger  of  his 
wife,  and  would  see  no  one;  that  Mr.  Dunlap,  ex 
hausted  by  agony  of  mind  and  weakened  by 
watching,  had  fainted,  was  now  lying  down  and 
must  not  be  disturbed  under  any  circumstances. 

Chapman  in  mute  amazement  stared  at  the 
trembling  lips  that  gave  an  account  of  the  striking 
down,  within  so  short  a  time,  of  all  three  mem 
bers  of  the  family.  Speechless  he  stood  and 
stared,  but  could  find  no  words  to  express  either 
his  surprise  or  sorrow.  As  he  stood  thus,  a  faint 
and  husky,  yet  familiar,  voice  called  from  the  far 
end  of  the  wide  hall  that  ran  through  the  center 
of  the  house. 

191 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"David,  wait;  I  want  you." 

With  uncertain  step,  and  bowed  head,  a  figure 
came  forward.  As  Chapman  turned  he  saw  that  it 
was  Mr.  Dunlap.  One  moment  the  old  employee 
gazed  at  the  approaching  man.  Then  springing 
toward  him,  he  cried  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
ashen  hue  on  his  old  master's  blanched  and  deep- 
lined  face,  and  saw  the  blank  look  in  his  kind 
eyes : 

"You  are  ill,  sir;  sit  down!" 

"Yes,  David;  I  am  not  well;  I  am  somewhat 
weak,  but  I  wish  to  give  you  certain  commands 
that  must  not,  as  you  value  my  friendship,  be 
disobeyed."  The  old  man  paused  and  painfully 
sought  to  gain  command  of  his  voice,  and  failing, 
gasped  forth: 

"Send  a  message  to  my  brother  saying,  'It  is  a 
boy  and  all  is  well,'  and  add — David  Chapman, 
do  you  understand  me? — and  add  these  very 
words,  'Do  not  come  home;  it  is  unnecessary.' 
Sign  the  message  'James' — and,  listen,  Chapman, 
listen ;  no  word  that  I  am  not  well  or  my  grand 
daughter  in  danger  must  reach  my  brother 
John." 

192 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Your  instructions  shall  be  obeyed,  sir,"  and 
Chapman's  voice  was  almost  as  indistinct  as  that 
of  his  loved  master. 

"What  of  the  business,  sir,  while  Mr.  Burton  is 
absent?"  the  ever- faithful  superintendent  asked. 

"Use  your  own  discretion  in  everything,"  and 
with  a  dry,  convulsive  sob  that  shook  his  bended 
frame,  he  added  in  a  whisper: 

"It  makes  no  difference  now." 

David  Chapman  heard  the  sob,  and  caught 
those  heart-broken  words.  In  an  instant  that 
strangely  constituted  man  was  on  his  knees  at  the 
feet  of  him  whom  of  all  on  earth  he  worshiped 
most. 

"Can  I  help  you,  sir,  in  your  trouble  ?  Say  any 
thing  that  man  can  do,  and  I  shall  do  it,  sir,"  cried 
Chapman  piteously. 

"No,  David,  no;  but,  David,  I  thank  you.  Go, 
my  faithful  old  friend,  and  do  what  I  have  re 
quested." 

Chapman  arose  and  pressed  the  wan  hand  that , 
James  Dunlap  extended,  then  hurried  from  the 
house. 

Those  who  saw  the  superintendent  that   day 

193 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


wondered  why  they  were  unable  to  tell  whether 
it  was  grief  or  rage  that  marked  the  man's  face 
so  deeply. 

The  message  as  dictated  was  sent  that  day  to 
Haiti, 


194 


XII. 

BY  SPECIAL  concession  from  the  Haitian 
government,  the  blacks  still  maintain 
ing  a  prejudice  against  white  people 
owning  real  estate  in  Haiti,  John  Dunlap  had 
purchased  several  acres  of  land  lying  in  the  out 
skirts  of  Port  au  Prince,  and  had  built  a  com 
modious  house  thereon,  constructed  in  accordance 
with  the  requirements  of  the  warm  climate  of  the 
island. 

To-night  with  impatient  manner  he  is  walking 
up  and  down  the  veranda  which  surrounds  the 
house,  accompanied  by  Captain  Jack  Dunlap,  to 
whom  he  says : 

"I  do  not  like  the  monotonous  sentence  that, 
without  change,  has  come  to  me  daily  for  two 
weeks  past.  It  is  not  like  my  brother  James,  and 
something,  that  I  cannot  explain,  tells  me  that  all 
is  not  well  at  home  in  Boston." 

"Don't  you  think  that  this  presentiment  is  only 

195 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  result  of  anxiety;  that  you  are  permitting 
imaginary  evils  to  disturb  you,  sir?"  put  in  Jack 
respectfully. 

"No,  Jack,  I  do  not.  From  boyhood  there  has 
existed  an  indescribable  bond  of  sympathy  be 
tween  my  brother  and  myself  that  has  always 
conveyed  to  each  of  us,  no  matter  how  far  apart, 
a  feeling  of  anxiety  if  trouble  or  danger  threat 
ened  either  one.  For  days  this  feeling  has  been 
increasing  upon  me,  until  it  now  has  become  un 
bearable.  I  regret  that  I  did  not  take  passage  on 
the  steamer  that  sailed  to-day  for  New  York. 
Now  I  must  wait  a  week."  As  Mr.  Dunlap  came 
to  the  end  of  his  sentence,  a  chanting,  croning 
kind  of  sound  was  heard  coming  from  some  spot 
just  beyond  the  wall  around  his  place. 

"Confound  that  old  hag!"  cried  the  impatient 
old  gentleman,  as  he  heard  the  first  notes  of  the 
weird  incantation,  "for  the  last  month,  night  and 
day,  she  has  been  haunting  my  premises,  wail 
ing  out  some  everlasting  song  about  Tu  Konk, 
white  cows,  black  kids,  and  such  stuff,  all  in  that 
infernal  jargon  of  the  mountain  blacks.  She 
looks  more  like  the  devil  than  anything  else.  I 

196 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


tried  to  bribe  her  to  go  away,  but  the  old  witch 
only  laughed  in  my  face.  I  then  ordered  her 
driven  away,  but  the  servants  are  all  afraid  of 
her  and  can't  be  induced  to  molest  her." 

"She  probably  is  only  some  half-witted  old  wo 
man,  whom  the  superstitious  negroes  suppose 
possessed  of  supernatural  power.  I  don't  think 
the  matter  worthy  of  your  notice,"  said  Jack. 

"I  suppose  it  is  foolish,  but  her  hanging  about 
my  place  just  now,  makes  me  nervous;  but  never 
mind  the  hag  at  present.  I  was  going  to  say  to 
you,  when  that  howling  stopped  me,  that  so  strong 
has  become  my  feeling  of  apprehension  within 
the  last  few  hours  that  could  I  do  so,  I  should 
leave  Port  au  Prince  to-night  and  hurry  straight 
to  Boston  and  my  brother.  This  cursed  Haitian 
loan,  for  which  the  English  and  American  bank 
ers  hold  our  house  morally,  if  not  legally,  re 
sponsible,  has  held  me  in  Haiti  this  late  in  the  hot 
season,  and,  tonight,  I  would  gladly  assume  the 
entire  obligation  legally,  to  be  placed  instantly 
on  Boston  Common." 

The  positiveness  and  seriousness  with  which  his 
kinsman  spoke  caused  even  Jack's  steady  nerves 

197 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


to  become  somewhat  shaken.  Just  then  footsteps 
were  heard  coming  rapidly  up  the  walk  that  led 
to  the  roadway.  As  the  two  Dunlaps  reached  the 
top  step  of  the  veranda  a  telegraph  messenger 
sprang  up  the  stairs  and  handed  an  envelope  to 
Mr.  John  Dunlap.  With  trembling  fingers  he 
opened  the  paper  and  going  to  a  lamp  that  hung 
in  the  hallway  read  it.  Then  with  a  cry  of  pain 
he  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor  had  not  Jack's 
strong  arms  been  around  him. 

"I  knew  it,  I  knew  it,"  he  moaned. 

Jack  took  the  message  from  the  cold,  numb 
hand  of  the  grief-stricken  man  and  read : 

"Come  immediately ;  your  brother  dying,  Lucy 
in  great  danger.  David  Chapman." 

Jack  almost  carried  the  groaning  old  man  to  a 
couch  that  stood  in  the  hall,  placing  him  upon 
it  he  hurried  to  the  side-board  in  the  dinner- 
room  for  a  glass  of  wine  or  water;  when  he  re 
turned  he  found  Mr.  Dunlap  sitting  up,  with  his 
face  hidden  in  his  hands,  rocking  back  and  for 
ward  murmuring. 

"A  million  dollars  for  a  steamer ;  yea !  all  I  am 
worth  for  a  ship  to  carry  me  to  Boston!  Oh! 
Brother,  Brother!" 

198 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Jack,  though  stricken  to  the  heart  by  what 
the  message  said,  still  held  firm  grip  upon  his 
self-command  for  the  sake  of  the  kind  old  man 
before  him.  When  he  heard  the  muttered  words 
of  his  suffering  friend,  for  one  instant  he  stood 
as  if  suddenly  struck  by  some  helpful  idea,  then 
cried, 

"You  have  the  fastest  sailing  ship  on  the  At 
lantic,  Cousin  John.  The  'Adams'  has  only  half 
a  cargo  aboard.  She  can  beat  any  steamer  that 
sails  from  Haiti  to  America,  if  there  be  breeze 
but  sufficient  to  fill  her  canvas.  My  crew  is 
aboard.  Within  one  hour  my  water  casks  can  be 
filled,  the  anchor  up,  the  bow-sprit  pointing  to 
Boston,  and,  God  send  the  wind,  we'll  see  the 
Boston  lights  as  soon  as  any  steamer  could  show 
them  to  us,  or  I'll  tear  the  masts  out  of  the 
'Adams'  trying." 

Like  the  revivifying  effect  of  an  electric 
shock,  the  words  of  the  seaman  sent  new  life 
into  John  Dunlap.  He  sprang  to  his  feet, 
grabbed  for  a  hat  and  coat  lying  on  the  hall- 
table  and,  ere  Jack  realized  what  was  happening, 
was  racing  down  the  pathway,  leading  to  the 

road,  calling  back: 

199 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Come  on,  my  lad,  come  on!" 

Soon  Jack  was  by  the  old  man's  side,  passing 
his  arm  through  that  of  his  godfather,  and  thus 
helping  him  forward,  their  race  toward  the 
water  was  continued. 

Not  one  word  was  said  to  the  house-servants. 
The  Dunlaps  saw  no  one  before  they  dashed 
from  the  premises;  no,  not  even  the  evil,  flash 
ing  eyes  of  the  old  black  hag,  who,  listening  to 
what  they  said,  peered  at  them  through  the  low 
window  case.  , 

"Mr.  Brice,  call  all  hands  aft,"  commanded 
Captain  Dunlap  as  he  stepped  upon  the  deck  of 
his  ship,  half  an  hour  after  leaving  the  house  of 
Mr.  Dunlap  in  Port  au  Prince. 

"Men,"  said  the  skipper,  when  the  astonished 
crew  had  gathered  at  the  mast  and  were  waiting. 

"Most  of  you  have  sailed  with  me  for  months, 
and  know  I  'crack  on'  every  sail  my  ship  can 
carry  at  all  times.  Now,  listen  well  to  what  I 
say.  This  old  gentleman  at  my  side,  my  kins 
man  and  friend,  and  I  have  those  in  Boston 
whom  we  love,  and  we  have  learned  tonight  that 
one  of  them  is  dying  and  one  is  in  danger.  We 

200 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


must  reach  Boston  at  the  earliest  moment  possi 
ble.  Within  the  hour  I'll  heave  my  anchor  up 
and  sail,  such  carrying  of  sail,  in  weather  fair 
or  foul,  no  sailor  yet  has  seen  as  I  shall  do.  My 
masts  may  go.  I'll  take  the  chance  of  tearing 
them  out  of  the  ship  if  I  can  but  gain  one  hour. 
No  man  must  sail  with  me  in  this  wild  race  un 
willingly  or  unaware  of  what  I  intend  to  do. 
Therefore,  from  mate  to  cabin-boy,  let  him  who 
is  unwilling  to  share  the  perils  of  this  trip  step 
forward,  take  his  wages  and  go  over  the  side 
into  the  small  boat  that  lies  beside  the  ship." 

The  skipper  stopped  speaking  and  waited;  for 
some  seconds  there  was  a  scuffling  of  bare  feet 
and  shoving  among  the  knot  of  seamen,  but  no 
man  said  aught  nor  did  any  one  step  forward. 
At  last  the  impatient  master  cried  out, 

"Well,  what's  it  to  be !  Can  no  man  among  you 
find  his  tongue?" 

Then  came  more  shuffling  and  shoving  and 
half  audible  exclamations  of  "Say  it  yourself!" 
"Why  don't  you  answer  the  skipper?"  Finally 
old  Brice  moved  around  from  behind  the  captain 
and  stood  between  him  and  the  men.  Then  ad- 

20 1 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


dressing  the  master  but  looking  at  the  crew,  he 
said, 

"I  think,  sir,  the  men  wish  to  say,  that  they 
are  Yankee  sailors,  and  see  you  and  Mr.  Dunlap 
half  scuttled  by  your  sorrow  and  that  they  will 
stick  by  you,  and  be  d n  to  the  sail  you  car 
ry!  Is  that  it,  men?" 

A  hoarse  hurrah  answered  the  first  officer's 
question. 

"The  mate  says  right  enough;  we'll  stick  to 
the  ship  and  skipper,"  came  in  chorus  from  the 
brazen  lungs  of  the  crew. 

Such  scampering  about  the  deck  was  never 
seen  before  on  board  the  "Adams"  as  that  of  the 
next  thirty  minutes.  When  the  crew  manned 
the  capstan  and  began  hoisting  the  anchor  a 
strange  black  bundle,  with  gleaming  eyes,  came 
tumbling  over  the  bow.  The  startled  crew 
sprang  away  from  what  they  took  to  be  a  huge 
snake,  but  seeing,  when  it  gathered  itself  to 
gether  and  stood  upright,  that  it  was  an  old  witch 
of  a  black  woman,  they  bawled  out  for  the  mate. 

The  old  termagant  fought  like  a  wild-cat, 
scratching  and  tearing  at  the  eyes  of  the  men 

202 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


as  they  bundled  her  over  the  ship's  side  and  into 
the  canoe  in  which  she  had  come  from  the  shore. 
All  the  time  the  hag  was  raving,  spitting  and 
swearing  by  all  kinds  of  heathenish  divinities 
that  she  would  go  to  Boston  to  see  "my  grand 
child,"  and  muttering  all  sorts  of  imprecations 
and  incantations,  in  the  jargon  of  the  West  In 
dies,  upon  the  heads  of  all  who  attempted  to  pre 
vent  her. 

As   the   ship   gathered   headway   and   swung 
around,   Mr.  John  Durulap,   who  stood   in  (the 
stern,  heard  a  weird  chant,  which  he  recognized 
as  coming  from  below  him.    He  looked  over  the 
railing  and  saw  old  Sybella  standing  upright  in 
the  canoe  in  which  she  had  been  thrust  by  the 
crew,  waving  her  skinny  bare  arms,  and  chant 
ing,  , 
"Tu  Konk,  the  great  one" 
"Send  her  the  Black  Goat" 
"White  cow,  Black  kid" 
"White  teat,  Black  mouth" 
"Tu  Konk,  Oh,  Tu  Konk" 
"Black  Blood,  Oh,  Tu  Konk" 
"Callback,  Oh!  Tu  Konk." 

203 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


When  Sybella  saw  Mr.  Dtmlap  she  ceased  her 
song,  and  began  hurling  savage  and  barbarous 
curses  upon  him  and  his,  which  continued  until 
the  tortured  old  gentleman  could  neither  hear 
nor  see  the  crone  longer. 

There  was  just  enough  cargo  aboard  the 
"Adams"  to  steady  her  and  give  her  the  proper 
trim.  As  soon  as  Jack  secured  enough  offing, 
in  sailors'  parlance  he  "cut  her  loose."  Every 
thing  in  shape  of  sail  that  could  draw  was  set, 
the  skipper  took  the  deck  nor  did  he  leave  it 
again  until  he  sprang  into  a  yawl  in  Boston  har 
bor. 

On  the  second  day  out  from  Port  au  Prince, 
the  wind  increased  to  the  fury  of  a  gale,  but  still 
no  stitch  of  cloth  was  taken  from  the  straining 
masts  and  yards  of  the  "Adams."  Two  stalwart 
sailors  struggled  with  the  wheel,  the  muscles  of 
their  bared  and  sinewy  arms  standing  out  taut, 
as  toughened  steel.  The  ship  pitched  and  leaped 
like  a  thing  of  life.  The  masts  sprang  before 
the  gale  as  if  in  their  anguish  they  would  jump 
clear  out  of  the  ship. 

With    steady,    hard    set    eyes,    the    skipper 

204 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


watched  each  movement  of  his  ship.  He  knew 
her  every  motion  as  huntsman  knows  the  action 
of  his  well-trained  hound.  His  jaws  were 
locked,  the  square,  firm,  Anglo-Saxon  chin 
might  have  been  modeled  out  of  granite,  so  rock- 
like  did  it  look.  Away  goes  a  sail,  blown  into 
fragments  that  wildly  flap  against  the  yard. 
Will  the  skipper  ease  her  now? 

Old  Brice  looked  toward  the  master,  saw 
something  in  his  eyes,  and  saw  him  shake  his 
head — 

"Lay  along  here  to  clear  up  the  muss,  and  set 
another  sail !"  bawled  Brice,  and  again  he  looked 
toward  the  skipper;  this  time  Jack  nodded. 

Brave  old  John  Dunlap  scarcely  ever  left  the 
deck.  He  had  a  sailor's  heart  and  he  had  min 
gled  with  those  of  the  sea  from  babyhood.  He 
saw  the  danger  and  going  to  his  namesake,  said, 

"Carry  all  she'll  bear  Jack.  If  you  lose  the 
ship,  I'll  give  you  ten ;  get  me  to  Boston  quickly, 
lad,  or  wreck  the  ship." 

"I  will,"  was  all  the  answer  that  came  from 
Jack's  tightly  pressed  lips,  nor  did  he  change  his 
gaze  from  straight  ahead  while  answering — yet 

205 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  old  man  knew  that  Jack  would  make  his 
promise  good. 

'He,  who  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand  doth  hold 
the  sea,  knew  of  their  need  and  favoring  the  ob 
ject  of  such  speed,  did  send  unto  that  ship  safety 
through  the  storm  and  favoring  winds  there 
after. 

No  yacht,  though  for  speed  alone  designed, 
ever  made  such  time,  or  ever  will,  or  ever  can, 
as  made  the  good  ship  "Adams"  from  Port  au 
Prince  to  Boston  harbor. 

SJS  ^  5Jt  ^  JJS  ^C  ^S 

During  the  two  weeks  that  succeeded  the  birth 
of  Lucy's  baby,  her  grandfather  never  left  the 
house,  but  like  some  wandering  spirit  of  unrest, 
moved  silently  but  constantly,  in  slippered  feet, 
from  room  to  room,  up  and  down  the  broad 
flight  of  stairs,  and  back  and  forth  through  the 
halls. 

Maids  and  serving  men  stepped  aside  when 
they  saw  the  bent  and  faltering  figure  approach 
ing;  James  Dunlap  had  aged  more  within  two 
weeks  than  during  any  ten  years  of  his  life  be 
fore.  His  kind  and  beaming  eyes  of  but  yester- 

206 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


day  had  lost  all  save  the  look  of  troubled  age  and 
weariness.  The  ruddy  glow  bequeathed  by  tem 
perate  youth  had  vanished  from  his  countenance 
in  that  short  time,  as  mist  beneath  the  rays  of  the 
rising  sun.  The  strong  elastic  step  of  seasoned 
strength  had  given  place  to  the  shambling  gait 
of  aged  pantaloon. 

Burton  in  moody  silence  kept  his  room,  or 
venturing  out  was  seen  a  changed  and  altered 
man,  with  blood-shot  eyes,  as  if  from  endless 
tears,  and  haggard,  desperate  face  deeply  traced 
by  lines  of  trouble's  trenches  dug  by  grief. 

Mrs.  Church,  the  physician,  nurse  and  even 
the  buxom  black  woman,  who  came  to  give  suck 
to  the  babe,  al!2  seemed  awe  struck,  distraught, 
as  if  affrighted  by  some  ghostly,  awful  thing 
that  they  had  seen. 

And  then,  too,  all  seemed  to  hold  some 
strange,  mysterious  secret  in  common,  that  in 
some  ways  was  connected  with  the  recently  ar 
rived  heir  to  the  Dunlap  proud  name  and  many 
millions.  The  frightened  conspirators  held  so 
sacred  the  apartments  blessed  by  the  presence  of 
the  Dunlap  heir,  that  none  but  themselves  might 

207 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


enter  it,  or  even,  in  loyal  love  for  all  who  bear 
their  old  master's  name,  see  the  babe.  One  poor 
maid  in  loving,  eager  curiosity  had  ventured 
to  peep  into  the  sacred  shrine  and  when  discov 
ered,  though  she  had  seen  naught  of  the  child, 
was  quickly  driven  from  the  house  and  lost  her 
cherished  employment. 

Lucy  Burton  from  the  first  hour  after  the  birth 
of  the  child  was  very  ill.  For  two  whole  days 
she  hovered,  hesitatingly,  between  life  and 
death,  most  of  the  time  entirely  unconscious  or 
when  not  so  in  a  kind  of  stupor.  But  finally, 
after  two  days  of  anxious  watching,  the  physician 
and  Mrs.  Church  noticed  a  change.  Lucy  opened 
her  eyes  and  feebly  felt  'beside  her  as  if  seeking 
something,  and  finding  not  what  she  sought, 
weakly  motioned  Mrs.  Church  to  bend  her  head 
down  that  she  might  whisper  something  in  her 
ear.  As  her  old  friend  bent  over  her,  she  whis 
pered  softly 

"My  baby,  bring  it." 

Mrs.  Church's  face  became  so  pitaous  as  she 
turned  her  appealing  eyes   toward   the   Doctor 

% 

that,  that  good  man  arose  and  coming  to  the  bed- 
208 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


side  took  Lucy's  soft  white  hand  in  his.  He  had 
known  her  as  an  infant,  and  guessing  from  Mrs. 
Church's  face  what  Lucy  wished,  he  said, 

"Not  yet,  dear  child,  you  are  too  ill  and  weak, 
and  the  excitement  might  be  dangerous  in  your 
condition." 

But  Lucy  would  listen  no  longer;  she  shook 
her  head  and  cried  out  quite  audibly: 

"Bring  me  my  baby !  I  want  to  see  it.  Every 
mother  wishes  to  see  her  baby."  Tears  came 
rolling  from  her  sweet  eyes. 

"But  child,  the  baby  boy  is  not  well  and  to 
bring  him  to  you  might  cause  serious  conditions 
to  arise." 

Well  did  that  Doctor  know  the  mother  Heart. 
How  ready  that  heart  ever  is  to  suffer  and  to 
bleed  that  the  off-spring  may  be  shielded  from 
some  danger  or  a  single  pang. 

"I  can  wait;  don't  bring  my  darling  if  it  will 
do  him  harm.  A  boy !  A  boy !  My  boy !  I'll 
wait,  but  where  is  Walter?" 

The  Doctor  told  the  nurse  to  summon  Mr. 
Burton,  but  cautioned  Lucy  not  to  excite  or  agi 
tate  herself  as  she  had  been  quite  ilL 

209 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Let  him  who  has  seen  the  look  on  the  con 
demned  felon's  face,  when  the  poor  wretch  gazes 
on  the  knife  within  the  guillotine,  recall  that 
look.  Let  him  who  has  seen  the  last  wild,  des 
perate  glance  of  a  drowning  man,  recall  that 
look,  and  mingle  with  these  the  look  of  Love  at 
side  of  Hope's  death-bed,  and  thus  find  the  look 
on  Burton's  face  when  he  entered  his  wife's  bed 
room. 

With  arms  outstretched  she  called  to  the  fal 
tering  man, 

"Walter,  it  is  a  boy !  My  baby !  Your  baby ! 
My  husband!" 

The  man  fell,  he  did  not  drop,  upon  his  knees 
by  the  bedside  and  burying  his  face  in  the  cover 
ing  wept  bitterly.  He  took  her  hands,  kissed 
them,  and  wet  them  with  his  tears. 

"Oh !  Don't  weep  so,  darling.  I  will  soon  be 
well,  and  Oh!  my  husband  we  have  a  precious 
baby  boy."  Then  she  said,  as  if  in  the  joy  of 
knowing  that  her  baby  was  a  boy,  she  had  for 
gotten  all  else, 

"Tell  grandfather  to  come  here.  Tell  him  the 
boy  shall  bear  his  name." 

210 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


The  Doctor  wetat  "himself  to  bring  her  grand 
father  to  her.  She  never  noticed  that  strange 
fact. 

James  Dunlap,  never  had  you  in  your  seventy- 
three  years  of  life  more  need  of  strength  of  mind 
than  now! 

Her  grandfather  came  to  her  kaning  heavily 
upon  the  Doctor's  arm.  He  bent  and  kissed  her 
brow,  and  in  so  doing  dropped  a  tear  upon  her 
cheek.  Quickly  she  looked  up  and  seeing  pain 
and  grief  in  the  white  face  above  her,  she  started 
and  in  the  alarmed  voice  of  a  little  child,  she 
cried, 

"Am  I  going  to  die  ?  Are  you  all  so  pale  and 
weep  because  I  am  dying?  Tell  me  Doctor! 
Why  Mamma  Church  is  crying  too." 

She  so  had  called  Mrs.  Church  when  a  wee 
maid  and  sometimes  did  so  still. 

The  Doctor  seeing  that  she  was  flushed  and 
greatly  excited  hastened  to  the  bed-side  and  said 
calmly  but  most  earnestly, 

"No,  my  dear.  You  will  not  die,  they  are  not 
weeping  for  that  reason,  but  you  have  been  very 
ill  and  we  all  love  you  so  much  that  we  weep 

211 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


from  sympathy  for  you,  my  dear.  Now  please 
lie  down.  You  must  my  child,  and  all  must 
leave  the  room  but  nurse  and  me,"  and  speaking 
thus,  he  gently  pressed  the  gold-brown  head 
back  on  the  pillows  and  urged  all  to  leave  the 
room  immediately. 

That  night  the  nurse  and  Doctor  heard  the  pa 
tient  often  murmur  both  while  awake  and  while 
she  slept, 

"My  baby,  my  baby,  it's  a  boy,  my  baby." 

For  two  or  three  days  after  this  night  Lucy 
was  quite  ill  again.  Her  mind  seemed  wander 
ing  all  along  the  path  of  her  former  life,  but  al 
ways  the  all  over-shadowing  subject  in  all  the 
wanderings  of  her  thoughts  was,  "My  baby," 
"My  baby."  Sometimes  she  called  for  Jack  say 
ing,  "Come  Jack,  and  see  my  baby,"  and  then 
for  her  uncle,  laughing  in  her  sleep  and  saying 
"See,  Uncle  John,  I've  brought  into  the  world  a 
boy,  my  baby." 

When  the  fever  again  abated  and  once  more 
she  became  conscious  her  first  words  were  "My 
baby,  bring  it  now." 

For  several  days  the  mental  resources  of  the 

212 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


nurse,  Doctor  and  Mrs.'  Church  were  taxed  to 
their  utmost  in  finding  excuses  for  the  absence 
of  the  baby.  He  was  not  well.  He  was  asleep, 
she  was  not  well  enough  and  many  other  things 
they  told  her  as  reasons  for  not  bringing  her 
baby  to  her, 

But,  Oh !  the  piteous  pleading  in  her  voice  and 
eyes,  as  with  quivering  lips  and  fluttering  hands 
extended  toward  them  she  would  beg 

"Please  bring  my  baby  to  me.  Everv  mother 
wishes  to  see  her  baby,  to  press  it  to  her  breast, 
to  feel  its  breath  upon  her  cheek,  to  hold  it  to 
her  heart ;  Oh !  Please  bring  my  darling  to  me." 

Poor  Mrs.  Church,  no  martyr  ever  suffered 
more  than  did  that  tender-hearted  woman,  who 
loved  Lucy  with  a  mother's  heart. 

The  Doctor,  when  he  had  reassured  and  quite- 
ed,  for  a  little  while,  his  patient,  would  leave 
the  room  and  standing  in  the  hall  would  wring 
his  hands  and  groan,  as  if  in  mortal  agony. 

One  night  when  Lucy  seemed  more  restful 
than  usual,  and  was  slumbering,  worn  out  by 
emotion  and  watching,  the  Doctor,  lying  on  a 
couch  in  the  hall,  fell  fast  asleep.  The  nurse, 

213 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


seeing  all  about  her  resting,  her  charge  peace 
fully  and  regularly,  first  became  drowsy,  nodded 
and  then  slept. 

The  gold-brown  head  was  raised  cautiously 
from  its  pillows,  the  hazel  eyes  wide  opened 
looked  about,  and  seeing  that  the  nurse  was 
sleeping  and  that  no  one  was  looking,  then  two 
little  white  feet  slipped  stealthily  from  beneath 
the  coverlet,  the  slim  figure  rose,  left  the  bed 
and  glided  along  the  well  remembered  passage 
that  led  from  her  chamber  to  that  bower  of 
beauty  made  for  her  baby.  As  she,  weak  and 
trembling,  stole  along,  she  smiled  and  whispered 
to  herself: 

"I  will  see  my  baby!  I  will  hold  him  in  my 
arms,  I  am  his  own  mother." 

In  the  room,  that  with  loving,  hopeful  hands 
she  had  helped  to  decorate,  the  faintest  flame 
gave  dim,  uncertain  light,  yet  quick  she  reached 
the  silver  shell-like  crib  and  feeling  found  no 
baby  there.  Hearing  a  steady,  loud  breathing 
of  some  one  asleep  and  seeing  the  indistinct  out 
line  of  a  bed  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  she 
softly  crept  to  its  side  and  feeling  gently  with 

214 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


her  soft  hands  found  a  tiny  figure  reposing  be 
side  the  snoring  sleeper.  To  gather  the  baby  to 
the  warm  breast  wherein  her  longing,  loving 
heart  was  beating  wildly  was  the  work  of  only 
an  instant. 

With  her  babe  clutched  close  to  her,  she 
opened  her  gown  and  laid  its  little  head  against 
her  soft  and  snowy  bosom,  then  she  stole  back, 
carrying  her  treasure  to  her  own  chamber. 

Like  child  that  she  was,  women  have  much  of 
childish  feeling  ever  in  them.  In  girlish  happi 
ness  she  closed  her  eyes  and  felt  her  way  to  the 
gas-light,  and  turned  it  up  full  blast,  laughing 
to  herself  and  saying  as  she  uncovered  the  baby's 
face, 

"I  won't  peep.  I'll  see  my  baby's  beauty  all  at 
once." 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked! 

Now,  Oh!  Mother  of  the  Lord  look  down! 
Oh!  Christ,  who  hanging  on  His  cross  for  the 
thief  could  pity  feel,  have  pity  now! 

The  thing  she  held  upon  her  milk  white  breast 
was  Black — Black  with  hideous,  misshapen 
head  receding  to  a  point;  with  staring,  roll- 

215 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ing  eyes  of  white  set  in  its  inky  skin;  and  feat 
ures  of  an  apish  cast,  increased  the  horror  of  the 
thing. 

My  God!  That  shriek!  It  pealed  through 
chamber,  dome  and  hall.  Again,  again  it  rang 
like  scream  of  tortured  soul  in  hell.  It  roused 
the  horses  in  the  barn,  they  neighed  in  terror, 
stamped  upon  the  floor  and  struggled  to  be  free. 
The  doves  in  fright  forsook  their  cot.  The  dogs 
began  to  bark.  Yet  high  above  all  other  sound, 
that  wild,  loud  scream  rang  out. 

When  the  nurse  sprang  up  she  dared  not  move 
so  wild  were  Lucy's  eyes.  The  Doctor,  Burton, 
her  grandfather  found  her  standing,  hair  un 
bound,  glaring  wildly  at  what  crying,  lay  on 
the  floor. 

"Away,  you  thieves!"  she  screamed,  and 
motioned  to  the  door. 

"You  have  robbed  me  of  my  babe,  and  left 
that  in  its  stead."  She  pointed  at  the  object  on 
the  floor. 

Her  grandfather  pallid,  tottering,  moved  to 
ward  her. 

"Back,  old  man,  back!     You  stole  my  child 

216 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


away,"  she  yelled,  her  blazing  eyes  filled  with 
insane  rage  and  hate. 

"My  God !  She  is  mad,"  the  Doctor  cried,  and 
rushing  forward  caught  her  as  she  fell. 

"Thank  God !  She  has  fainted  j  help  me  place 
her  on  the  bed." 

Burton,  petrified  by  the  awfulness  of  the  scene 
had  until  that  moment  stood  like  some  ghastly, 
reeling  statue,  now  in  an  automatic  manner  he 
came  forward  and  helped  the  Doctor  place  her 
on  the  bed. 

"Look  to  Mr.  Dunlap,"  cried  the  Doctor  but 
ere  anyone  could  reach  him  the  old  man  fell  for 
ward,  crashing  on  the  floor;  a  stroke  of  paralysis 
had  deadened  and  benumbed  his  whole  right  side. 

Chapman  was  told  next  day  that  James  Dun- 
lap  was  dying.  Then,  for  the  first  and  only  time 
in  the  life  of  David  Chapman,  he  disobeyed  an 
order  given  by  a  Dunlap  and  sent  the  message 
to  Haiti. 


XIII. 

THE  pilot  is  mad,"  cried  one  old  tar ;  an- 
said, 

"The  master  is  drunk,  or  there's  mu 
tiny  aboard  that  ship." 

Thus  spoke  among  themselves  a  knot  of  sea 
faring  men  who  stood  on  the  Boston  docks 
watching  a  ship  under  almost  full  sail,  that  came 
tearing  before  a  strong  northeast  gale  into  Bos 
ton's  crowded  harbor. 

The  man  who  held  the  wheel  and  guided  the 
ship  through  the  lanes  of  sail-less  vessels  an 
chored  in  the  harbor,  as  a  skillful  driver  does 
his  team  in  crowded  streets,  was  neither  mad  nor 
drunk  nor  was  there  mutiny  among  the  crew. 
The  man  was  Jack  Dunlap;  the  ship  was  the 
"Adams." 

Jack  knew  the  harbor,  as  does  the  dog  its  ken 
nel.  He  held  a  pilot's  certificate  and  waiving 
assistance  steered  his  ship  himself  in  this  mad 

218 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


race  with  time,  that  no  moment  should  be  lost 
by  lowering  sails  until  the  anchor  dropped  in 
Massachusetts  sand. 

The  crew  was  ready  at  the  sheets  and  running 
gear.  Each  man  at  his  station  and  all  attention. 
Old  Brice  in  the  waist  stood  watching  the  skip 
per  ready  to  pass  the  word,  to  "let  all  go;"  Mor 
gan,  the  second  mate,  at  the  boat  davits  held  the 
tackle  to  lower  away  the  yawl  the  instant  the 
ship  "came  round." 

The  skipper  at  the  wheel,  stood  steady,  firm 
and  sure,  as  though  chiseled  from  hardest  rock. 
He  never  shifted  his  blood-shot  eyes  from 
straight  ahead.  His  strong,  determined  face, 
colorless  beneath  the  tan,  never  relaxed  a  line 
of  the  intensity  that  stamped  it  with  sharp  an 
gles.  The  skipper  had  not  closed  his  eyes  in 
sleep  since  leaving  Port  au  Prince  nor  had  he 
left  the  deck  for  a  single  hour. 

"Let  go  all!"  the  helmsman  called  and  Brice 
repeated  the  order.  The  ship  flew  around,  like 
a  startled  stag  and  then  came, 

"Let  go  the  anchor !  Lower  away  on  that  boat 
tackle !  Come,  Cousin  John,  we  are  opposite 

219 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Dunlap's  docks.  This  is  Boston  harbor,  thank 
God !"  So  called  Jack  Dunlap,  springing  toward 
the  descending  small  boat  that  had  hung  at  the 
davits,  and  dragging  the  no-way  backward  old 
gentleman,  John  Dunlap,  along  with  him. 

The  only  moment  lost  in  Port  au  Prince  be 
fore  the  "Adams"  sailed  was  to  arouse  the  oper 
ator  and  send  a  message  to  Chapman  saying  that 
John  Dunlap  had  left  in  the  "Adams"  and  was 
on  his  way  to  Boston  and  his  brother's  bedside. 

When  the  red  ball  barred  with  black  stream 
ing  from  the  masthead  announced  that  a  Dunlap 
ship  was  entering  the  port,  the  information  was 
sent  at  once  to  the  city,  and  an  anxious,  thin  and 
sorrowing  man  gave  an  order  to  the  driver  of 
the  fastest  team  in  the  Dunlap  stables,  to  hasten 
to  Dunlap's  wharf  and  sprang  into  the  carriage. 

The  impatient,  scrawny  figure  of  David  Chap 
man  caught  the  eyes  of  the  two  passengers  in 
the  yawl,  as  with  lusty  strokes  the  sailors  at  the 
oars  urged  the  small  boat  toward  the  steps  of  the 
dock.  Chapman  in  his  excitement  fairly  raced 
up  and  down  the  dock  waving  his  hands  toward 
the  approaching  boat. 

220 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"He  still  lives !"  he  shouted  when  they  coald 
hear  him,  instinctively  knowing  that,  that  ques 
tion  was  first  in  the  minds  of  those  nearing  the 
wharf. 

"And  Lucy?"  said  Jack  huskily,  as  he  stepped 
on  the  dock  and  grasped  Chapman's  extended 
hand.  Old  John  Dunlap  had  said  never  a  word 
nor  looked  right  nor  left,  but  springing  up  the 
steps  with  extraordinary  agility  in  one  of  his 
age,  had  run  directly  to  the  waiting  carriage. 

"Alive  but  better  dead,"  was  all  that  the  su- 
perintenden  could  find  breath  to  say  as  he  ran 
beside  Jack  toward  the  carriage  and  leaped  in. 

"Stop  for  nothing;  put  the  horses  to  a  gal 
lop,"  commanded  Mr.  Dunlap,  leaning  out  of  the 
carriage  window  and  addressing  the  coachman 
as  he  wheeled  his  horses  around  and  turned  up 
on  the  street. 

It  was  at  an  early  hour  on  Sunday  morning 
when  the  Dunlaps  landed  and  the  streets  were 
freed  from  the  week  day  traffic  and  the  number 
of  vehicles  that  usually  crowded  them. 

As  the  swaying  carriage  dashed  along,  Chap 
man  was  unable  to  make  the  recently  arrived 

221 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


men  understand  more  than  that  Lucy  had  sud 
denly  become  deranged  as  a  result  of  her  illness, 
and  that  this  appalling  circumstance,  in  connec 
tion  with  his  idolized  granddaughter's  severe 
sickness  had  produced  a  paralytic  stroke,  that 
had  rendered  powerless  the  entire  right  side  of 
James  Dunlap's  body;  that  his  vitality  was  so 
low  and  his  whole  constitution  seemed  so  shaken 
and  undermined  by  the  events  of  the  last  few 
weeks,  that  the  physicians  despaired  of  his  life. 

As  the  foaming  horses  were  halted  before  the 
entrance  of  the  Dunlap  mansion,  Mr.  John  Dun- 
lap  jumped  from  the  still  swaying  vehicle  and 
ran  up  the  steps,  heedless  of  Mrs.  Church  and 
the  servants  in  the  hall,  he  rushed  straight  to 
the  well  remembered  room  where,  as  boys,  he  and 
his  brother  had  slept,  and  which  was  still  the 
bed-chamber  occupied  by  Mr.  James  Dunlap. 

John  Dunlap  opened  the  door  and  for  a  mo 
ment  faltered  on  the  threshold;  then  that  voice 
he  loved  so  well  called  out 

"Is  that  my  brother  John  ?"  The  stricken  man 
had  recognized  his  brother's  footsteps. 

An  instant  more  and  John  Dunlap  had  thrown 

222 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


himself  across  the  bed  and  his  arms  were  around 
his  brother ;  for  several  minutes  those  two  hearts, 
which  in  unison  had  beaten  since  first  the  life- 
blood  pulsated  through  them,  were  pressed  to 
gether.  James  Dunlap's  left  hand  weakly  pat 
ting  his  brother. 

David  Chapman  had  followed,  close  upon  the 
heels  of  John  Dunlap  and  was  crouching  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bed,  with  his  face  hidden  by  the 
bed-clothing  that  covered  his  old  master's  feet, 
and  was  silently  sobbing.  When  Jack  Dunlap 
entered  the  hall  good  Mrs.  Church,  who  had 
been  a  second  mother  to  him  while  he  lived  at 
the  Dunlap  house  in  his  school  boy  days,  ran 
to  him  and  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck 
fell  upon  his  broad  breast,  weeping  and  crying, 

"My  boy  is  home!  Thank  God  for  sending 
you,  Jack.  We  have  suffered  so,  and  needed 
you  so  much,  my  boy!" 

When  the  sailor  man  had  succeeded  in  pacify 
ing  the  distressed  old  housekeeper  and  disen 
gaged  himself  from  her  embrace,  he  hastened 
after  Chapman.  As  he  entered  the  room  and 
stepped  near  the  bed  he  heard  a  feeble  voice 

223 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


which  he  scarcely  recognized1  as  that  of  Mr. 
James  Dunlap,  say, 

"It  is  all  my  fault  John.  You,  brother,  tried 
to  prevent  it.  I  alone  am  to  blame.  I  have 
driven  my  darling  mad  and  I  believe  that  it  will 
kill  her.  I  did  it  Oh  God !  I  did  it.  Blame  no 
one  John;  be  kind,  punish  no  one,  my  brother. 
I  alone  am  at  fault." 

These  words  came  with  the  force  of  a  terrible 
blow  to  Jack  Dunlap,  and  halted  him  in  mute 
and  motionless  wonder  where  he  was. 

"James,  don't  talk  that  way.  I  can't  stand  it, 
brother.  Whatever  you  have  done,  I  know  not, 
and  care  not,  it  is  noble,  just  and  right  and  I 
stand  with  you,  brother,  in  whatsoever  it  may 
be,"  said  John  Dunlap  in  a  broken  but  energetic 
voice. 

"Has  no  one  told  you  then,  John?"  came 
faintly  from  the  partially  paralyzed  lips  of  him 
who  lay  upon  the  bed. 

"Told  me  what?  Brother  James;  but  no  mat 
ter  what  they  have  to  tell,  you  are  not  blamable 
as  you  say;  I  stand  by  that." 

Though  the  voice  was  husky,  there  was  a  chal- 

224 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


lenge  in  the  tone  that  said,  let  no  man  dare  at 
tack  my  brother.  The  innate  chivalry  of  the  old 
New  Englander  was  superior  even  to  his  sor 
row. 

"Who  is  in  the  room  beside  you,  John?"  asked 
James  Dunlap,  anxious  that  something  he  had 
to  say  should  not  be  heard  by  other  than  the 
trustworthy,  and  unable  to  move  his  head  to  as 
certain. 

"No  one,  James,  but  our  kinsman,  Jack  Dun- 
lap,  and  faithful  David  Chapman,"  replied  his 
brother. 

The  palsied  man  struggled  with  some  pow 
erful  emotion,  and  by  the  greatest  effort  was 
only  able  to  utter  in  a  whisper  the  words, 

"Lucy's  baby  is  black  and  impish.  The  negro 
blood  in  Burton  caused  the  breeding  back  to  a 
remote  ancestor,  as,  John,  you  warned  me  might 
be  the  case.  It  has  driven  my  granddaughter 
insane  and  will  cause  her  death.  God  have 
mercy  on  me !"  The  effort  and  emotion  was  too 
much  for  the  weak  old  gentleman;  his  head  fell 
to  one  side;  he  had  fainted. 
John  Dunlap  started  when  he  heard  these  dire- 

225 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ful  words.  A  look  of  horror  on  his  face,  but 
brotherly  love  stronger  than  all  else  caused  him 
to  put  aside  every  thought  and  endeavor  to  re 
suscitate  the  unconscious  man. 

Poor  Jack.  He  had  borne  manfully  much 
heartache,  but  the  dreadful  thing  that  he  had 
just  heard  was  too  much  for  even  his  iron  will 
and  nerves.  He  collapsed  as  if  a  dagger  had 
pierced  his  heart,  and  would  have  fallen  to  the 
floor  had  he  not  gripped  the  bedstead  when  his 
legs  gave  way. 

Chapman  raised  his  head  and  gazed,  with  eyes 
red  from  weeping,  at  him  who  told  the  calami 
tous  story  of  the  events  that  had  stricken  him 
down.  There  was  a  dangerous  glitter  in  the 
red  eyes  as  Chapman  sprung  to  John  Dunlap's 
assistance  in  reviving  the  senseless  man. 

When  Jack  recovered  self-command  sufficient 
to  realize  what  was  happening  about  him,  he 
found  that  the  physician,  who  had  been  sum 
moned,  had  administered  restoratives  and  stim 
ulants,  and  that  the  patient  had  returned  to  con 
sciousness;  that  the  kind  Doctor  was  trying  to 
comfort  the  heartbroken  brother  of  the  sufferer 

226 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


even  while  obliged  to  admit  that  the  end  of  life 
for  James  Dunlap  was  not  far  distant. 

"Come  and  get  in  my  bed,  Jack,"  came  in  a 
low  and  indistinct  voice  from  the  couch  of  the 
helpless  patient.  Captain  Dunlap  started  in 
surprise,  but  old  John  Dunlap  made  a  motion 
with  his  hand  and  said  in  a  voice  choking  with 
emotion, 

"He  always  so  called  me  when  we  were  boys," 
and  lying  down  by  his  brother  he  put  his  arms 
lovingly  and  protectingly  around  him. 

Thus  the  two  old  men  lay  side  by  side  as  they 
had  done  years  before  in  their  cradle.  The  si 
lence  remained  for  a  long  time  unbroken,  save 
for  the  muffled  sobs  that  came  from  those  who 
watched  and  grieved  in  the  chamber. 

"How  cold  it  is,  Jack,  come  closer;  I'm  cold. 
I  broke  through  the  ice  today  and  got  wet  but 
don't  tell  mother,  she  will  worry.  Jack,  don't 
tell  on  me."  The  words  were  whispered  to  his 
brother  by  the  dying  man. 

"No,  Jim,  I'll  not  tell,  old  fellow,"  bravely  an 
swered  John  Dunlap,  but  a  smothered  sob  shook 
his  shoulders.  He  knew  his  brother's  mind  was 

227 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


straying  back  into  the  days  of  their  boyhood. 

For  what  inscrutable  cause  does  the  mind  of 
the  most  aged  recur  to  scenes  and  associations 
of  childhood  when  Death,  the  dread  conqueror, 
draws  near?  Why  does  the  most  patriarchal 
prattle  as  though  still  at  the  mother  knee  in  that 
last  and  saddest  hour?  Is  it  because  mother, 
child,  in  purity  approach  nearest  to  that  tran 
scendent  pellucidity  that  surrounds  the  throne  of 
Him  before  whom  all  must  appear?  Does  the 
nearness  of  the  coming  hour  cast  its  shadow  on 
the  soul,  causing  it  to  return  to  the  period  of 
greatest  innocence,  and  that  love  that  is  purest 
on  earth? 

"Jack,  hold  me,  I  am  slipping,  I  am  going, 
going,  Jack." 

Alas!  James  Dunlap  had  gone  on  that  long, 
last  journey!  The  noble,  kindly  soul  had  gone 
to  its  God.  John  Dunlap  held  in  his  arms  the 
pulseless  form  of  him  who  for  seventy-three 
years  had  been  his  second  self,  and  whom  he  had 
loved  with  a  devotedness  seldom  seen  in  this  sel 
fish  world  of  ours. 

To  see  a  strong  man  weep  is  painful;  to  hear 

228 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


him  sob  is  dreadful;  but  to  listen  and  look  upon 
the  sorrow  of  a  strong  and  aged  man  is  heart 
breaking  and  will  cause  sympathetic  tears  to 
flow  from  eyes  of  all  who  are  not  flinty-hearted. 

Chapman,  when  he  knew  the  end  had  come, 
clasped  the  cold  feet  of  his  old  employer  and 
wept  bitterly;  Jack  could  bear  no  more.  With 
bursting  heart  he  fled  from  the  room,  but  kept 
the  chamber  sacred  from  intrusion,  and  in  the 
sole  possession  of  the  two  old  men  who  sorrowed 
there. 

The  funeral  of  James  Dunlap  was  attended  by 
the  foremost  citizens  of  that  section  of  the 
United  States,  where  for  so  many  years  he  had 
justly  held  a  position  of  honor  and  prominence. 

The  universal  gloom  and  hush  that  was  ob 
servable  throughout  the  city  of  Boston  on  the 
day  that  the  sorrowful  cortege  followed  all  that 
remained  earthly  of  this  esteemed  citizen,  gave 
greater  evidence  of  universal  grief  than  words 
or  weeping  could  have  done. 

While  James  Dunlap  had  never  held  any  civic 
or  political  position,  his  broad  charity,  unosten 
tatious  generosity,  kindliness  of  spirit,  constant 

229 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


thoughtfulness  of  his  fellow  men,  and  the  unas 
suming  gentleness  of  his  lovable  disposition  and 
character,  gave  him  an  undisputed  high  place  in 
the  hearts  of  his  fellow  citizens  of  both  lofty 
and  lowly  condition. 

The  chief  executive  of  his  native  state,  jurists, 
scholars,  and  capitalists  gathered  with  rough, 
weather  beaten  sea-faring  men,  clerks  and  labor 
ers  to  listen  to  the  final  prayer  offered  up,  to 
Him  above,  at  the  old  family  vault  of  the  Dun- 
laps  beneath  the  sighing  willow  trees. 
******* 

Haggard  and  worn  by  the  emotions  that  had 
wrenched  his  very  soul  for  the  past  two  or  three 
weeks,  David  Chapman  dragged  himself  to  the 
tea-table  where  his  sister  waited  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  of  the  funeral  ceremonies. 

With  the  fidelity  of  a  faithful,  loving  dog  he 
had  held  a  position  during  all  of  many  nights  at 
the  feet  of  him  who  in  life  had  been  his  object 
of  paramount  devotion;  during  those  days  with 
unswerving  faithfulness  to  the  house  of  "J.  Dun- 
lap,"  he  was  found  leaden  hued  and  worn,  but 
still  attentive,  at  his  desk  in  the  office.  The 

230 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


great  business  must  not  suffer,  thought  the  man, 
even  if  I  drop  dead  from  exhaustion.  Neither 
John  Dunlap  nor  Walter  Burton  was  in  a  condi 
tion,  nor  could  they  force  themselves,  to  attend 
to  the  business  of  the  house  no  matter  how  urg 
ent  the  need  might  be. 

When  the  business  of  the  day  ended,  Chap 
man  hastened  to  the  Dunlap  mansion,  and  like  a 
ghostly  shadow  glided  to  his  position  at  the  feet 
of  his  old  employer,  speaking  to  no  one  and  no 
one  saying  him  nay — it  seemed  the  sad  watcher's 
right. 

As  David  Chapman  dropped  into  a  chair  at 
the  tea-table,  the  anxious  and  sympathetic  sister 
said, 

"Brother,  you  really  must  take  some  rest.  In 
deed  you  must,  David,  now  that  all  is  over." 

"Yes,  Arabella,  I  feel  utterly  exhausted  and 
shall  rest." 

The  man's  condition  was  pitiable;  his  words 
came  from  his  throat  with  the  dry,  rasping 
sound  of  a  file  working  on  hardest  steel. 

"What  a  God-send  Jack  Dunlap  is  at  this 
time,  sister.  He  has  taken  charge  of  everything, 

231 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL. 


and  in  that  steady,  confident,  masterful  way  of 
his  has  brought  order  out  of  the  chaos  that  ex 
isted  at  the  mansion.  It  may  be  the  training  and 
habits  acquired  at  sea,  but  no  matter  what  it  is 
the  transformation  in  the  affairs  at  the  house  is 
wonderful.  His  decisive  manner  of  directing 
everything  and  everybody  and  the  correctness 
and  promptness  with  which  all  people  and  things 
are  disposed  of  by  him  is  phenomenal.  I  thank 
Providence  for  the  relief  that  Jack's  coming  has 
brought." 

The  total  exhaustion  of  Chapman's  intense 
energy  was  best  exhibited  in  the  satisfaction  he 
felt  at  having  some  one  to  assist  him  even  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Dunlaps. 

"Jack  is  one  of  the  best  and  strongest  minded 
men  in  the  world.  While  I  know  that  his  heart 
is  bleeding  for  all,  especially  for  Lucy,  he  has 
maintained  a  self-control  that  is  superb,"  said 
the  spinster. 

"When  he  learned  that  Lucy's  hallucination 
led  her  to  believe  that  the  old  family  physician 
had  conspired  to  deprive  her  of  her  baby,  he 
promptly  procured  the  attendance  of  another 

232 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


doctor,  saying  positively,  'Lucy's  mind  must  not 
be  disturbed  by  sight  of  anything  or  person  tend 
ing  to  aggravate  her  mental  disorder.'  He  for 
bade  Mrs.  Church  going  into  Lucy's  apartments, 
dismissed  the  nurse  and  procured  a  new  one,  had 
that  accursed  infant  put  with  his  nurse  into 
other  apartments  and  did  it  all  so  firmly  and  qui 
etly  that  no  one  dreamed  of  disputing  any  order 
given  by  him,"  said  David  wearily,  but  evidently 
much  relieved  with  the  changes  made  by  Jack. 

"What  of  Lucy?  How  is  she?"  anxiously 
questioned  Arabella. 

"Her  mental  faculties  are  totally  disarranged. 
She  has  not  spoken  coherently  since  she  fell 
senseless  on  that  dreadful  night  and  was  carried 
to  her  bed.  Besides,  her  physical  condition  is 
precarious  in  the  extreme,"  replied  the  brother. 

"Has  Jack  seen  her  yet?"  inquired  the  old 
maid  sadly. 

"Yes,  and  it  is  very  strange  how  rational  she 
became  as  soon  as  she  saw  him  enter  the  room. 
You  know,  Arabella,  the  steady,  earnest,  matter 
of  fact  manner  he  has.  Well,  he  walked  into  her 
room  with  just  that  manner,  they  say  he 

233 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


stopped  to  steady  himself  before  going  in,  and 
said  'How  are  you,  Cousin  Lucy?  I've  come 
home  to  see  you/  and  without  a  quiver  took  her 
extended  hands  and  pressed  them  to  his  breast. 

Lucy  knew  him  at  once  when  he  stepped  inside 
the  door.  She  looked  intently  at  him,  then  gave 
a  glad,  joyful  cry  and  held  out  her  hands,  calling, 
"Jack,  Oh  Jack!  Come  to  me,  my  champion! 
Now  all  will  be  well.'  Then  she  put  her  weak, 
white  arms  about  his  neck  and  began  to  weep  as 
she  sobbed  out,  'Jack,  I  have  needed  you.  You 
said  you  would  come  from  the  end  of  the  earth 
to  me.  I  knew  you  would  come ;  Jack,  they  have 
stolen  my  angel  boy,  my  baby.  Jack,  find  it, 
bring  it  to  me.  I  know  you  can.  You  said  until 
death  you  would  love  me,  Jack.  Oh!  find  my 
baby,  my  darling.'  " 

"Poor  Lucy!  Poor  Jack!"  broke  in  the  old 
lady,  as  tears  of  pity  ran  down  her  withered 
cheek. 

"But  think  of  the  strength  of  the  man,  Ara 
bella.  You  and  I  know  what  he  was  suffering. 
Yet  he  answered  with  never  a  waver  in  his 
voice,  'All  right,  little  cousin,  I  am  here  and  no 

234 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


harm  shall  come  to  you.  I'll  help  $ou,  but  you 
must  be  a  good  little  girl  and  stay  quiet  and  get 
well.  Shall  I  have  my  mother  come  to  sit  with 
you?'  She  cried  out  at  once,  'Please  do,  Jack, 
Cousin  Martha  did  not  steal  my  baby/  and  then 
he  insisted  that  she  put  her  head  back  on  the 
pillow  and  close  her  eyes.  When  she  did  so  Jack 
had  the  courage  to  sit  on  the  bedside  and  sing 
softly  some  old  song  about  the  sea  that  they  had 
sung  together  when  children.  The  poor  girl  fell 
fast  asleep  as  he  sung,  but  still  clung  to  Jack's 
brown  hand." 

Chapman  gave  a  groan  when  he  finished  as  if 
the  harrowing  scene  was  before  him. 

"Blessings  on  the  stout  hearted  boy,"  whim 
pered  the  old  lady. 

"Lucy  never  calls,  as  formerly,  for  her  grand 
father  or  husband.  In  fact,  when  Burton  en 
tered  her  room  after  that  awful  night  she  flew 
into  a  perfect  frenzy,  accusing  him  of  stealing 
her  child  and  putting  some  imp  that,  at  some 
time,  she  had  seen  in  Florida,  in  his  place,  not 
withstanding  his  protestations  and  entreaties. 
Her  mad  fury  increased  to  such  a  degree  that 

235 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  doctor  insisted  that  Burton  should  leave  the 
room,  and  has  forbidden  him  to  again  visit  his 
wife  until  there  is  a  change  in  her  mental  condi 
tion.  Of  course,  Lucy  knows  nothing  of  the 
death  of  her  grandfather."  The  man's  voice 
became  choked  as  he  uttered  the  last  sentence. 

"Have  Jack  and  Mr.  Burton  been  together  since 
Jack's  return?"  inquired  Arabella,  after  a  long 
silence. 

"I  think  not,  except  once  when  they  were  clos 
eted  in  the  library  for  two  hours  the  day  after 
Jack  arrived.  When  they  came  out  I  was  in  the 
hall  and  heard  Jack  say,  as  he  left  the  library 
with  Burton,  'I  shall  hold  you  to  your  promise. 
You  must  wait  until  my  cousin  be  in  a  condition 
of  mind  to  express  her  wishes  in  that  matter.' 
Jack's  voice  was  firm  and  emphatic  and  his  face 
was  very  stern.  Burton  replied,  'I  gave  you  my 
word  of  honor.'  He  seemed  in  great  distress  and 
mental  anguish.  My  opinion  is  that  he  had  pro 
posed  disappearing  forever,  and  I  think  so  for 
the  reason  that  he  had  asked  me  to  dispose  of  a 
great  amount  of  his  personal  securities,  and  to 
bring  him  currency  for  the  proceeds  in  bills  of 

236 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


large  denomination,  and  Jack  must  have  object 
ed,"  rejoined  Chapman. 

"I  am  sorry  for  Mr.  Burton  and  am  glad  Jack 
would  not  let  him  go  away,"  said  the  kind  spin 
ster. 

"Well  I  am  not,"  cried  Chapman  savagely, 
notwithstanding  his  fatigue. 

'  'They  would  better  let  him  go.  This  misfortune 
is  the  physical  one  that  long  ago  I  told  you  was 
possible.  The  next  may  be  spiritual  and  result 
in  some  emotional  or  fanatic  outburst  of  barbar 
ous  religious  fervor  that  may  again  disgrace  us 
all.  Then  may  develop  the  bestial  propensities 
of  the  sensual  nature  of  savages  and  may  result 
in  crime  and  ruin  the  house  of  Dunlap  forever." 

"David,  go  to  bed  and  rest.  You  are  worn 
out  and  conjure  up  imaginary  horrors  purely  by 
reason  of  nervousness  and  weariness,"  said  the 
sister  soothingly. 

"You  maintained  months  ago  that  the  danger 
of  breeding  back  was  imaginary.  What  do  you 
think  now?  The  other  things  that  I  suggest  as 
possible,  are  inherent  in  Burton's  blood  and  may 
tell  their  story  yet." 

237 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Chapman,  though  weak,  became  vehement  im 
mediately  upon  the  mention  of  this  unfortunate 
subject.  It  required  all  the  persuasion  and  di 
plomacy  of  his  good  sister  to  get  him  to  desist 
and  finally  to  retire  to  his  bed  room  for  the  rest 
that  was  so  needed  by  the  worn  out  man. 


238 


XIV. 

YOU  have  been  a  tower  of  strength  to 
me,  Jack,  in  the  grief  and  trouble  of  the 
last  three  months.  I  don't  know  what 
would  have  become  of  us  all  without  your  aid 
and  comfort." 

So  spoke  Mr.  John  Dunlap.  He  appeared 
many  years  older  than  he  did  when  three  months 
before  he  arrived  in  Boston  on  board  the 
"Adams."  He  was  bent,  and  care  worn.  Deep 
sorrow  had  taken  the  fire  and  mirth  from  his 
honest,  kindly  eyes. 

"I  am  rejoiced  and  repaid  if  I  have  been  able 
to  be  of  service  to  those  whom  I  love,  and  who 
have  always  been  so  kind  to  me,"  replied  Jack 
Dunlap  simply. 

The  two  men  were  seated  in  the  library  of  the 
Dunlap  mansion  in  the  closing  hour  of  that  late 
November  day,  watching  the  heavy  snow  flakes 
falling  without. 

"Jack,  I  have  meditated  for  several  days  upon 

239 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


what  I  am  about  to  say  and  can  find  no  way  but 
to  beg  you  to  make  more  sacrifices  for  us,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  after  a  lapse  of  several  min 
utes. 

"The  condition  in  which  our  family  is  demands 
the  presence  of  some  younger,  stronger  head  and 
hand  than  mine  is  now.  I  know  the  'Adams'  is 
refitted,  after  her  two  years  of  service,  and  ready 
for  sea.  I  know  you,  my  lad,  and  your  reluct 
ance  to  remain  idle  when  you  think  that  you 
should  be  at  work." 

"To  be  frank,  sir,  you  have  hit  upon  a  subject 
about  which  I  desired  to  talk  with  you  but  have 
hesitated  for  several  days,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  something  of  relief  in  his  tone. 

"Well  then,  Jack,  to  begin  with,  I  wish  to 
charter  your  ship  for  a  voyage  and  to  show  that 
it  is  no  subterfuge  to  hold  you  here,  I  say  at 
once  I  wish  you  to  sail  in  her."  Mr.  Dunlap 
paused  for  a  moment  to  note  the  effect  of  his 
proposal  and  then  continued, 

"Let  me  go  over  the  situation,  Jack,  and  tell 
me  if  you  do  not  agree  in  my  conclusions.  Lucy, 
while  apparently  restored  in  a  degree  to  her  for- 

240 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


mer  health,  is  still  weak  and  looks  fragile.  The 
physicians  advise  me  to  take  her  to  a  warmer 
climate  before  our  New  England  Winter  sets  in. 
Her  dementia  still  continues,  and  while  she  is 
perfectly  gentle  and  harmless,  she  will  neither 
tolerate  the  presence  of  her  husband,  nor  poor 
Mrs.  Church,  and  is  even  not  pleased  or  quiet  in 
my  company.  I  think  my  likeness  to  my  beloved 
brother  affects  her.  She  clings  to  your  good 
mother  and  to  you,  my  lad,  with  the  confident  af 
fection  of  a  child.  When  she  is  not  softly  sing 
ing,  as  she  rocks  and  smiles  in  a  heartrending, 
far-off-way,  some  baby  lullaby,  she  is  flitting 
about  the  house  like  some  sweet  and  sorrowful 
shadow.  Can  we,  Jack,  expose  our  girl  in  this 
condition  to  the  unsympathetic  gaze  of  stran 
gers?" 

"No,  no,  a  thousand  times  no!"  was  the  quick 
and  emphatic  answer  of  the  younger  man. 

"Now  listen,  Jack.  Since  the  death  of  that 
poor,  little  misshapen  black  creature,  which  in 
nocently  brought  so  much  trouble  into  our  lives, 
and,  Jack,  your  thoughtfulness  in  having  it 
buried  quietly  in  Bedford  instead  of  here  is 

241 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


something  I  shall  never  forget.  But  to  return 
to  Lucy:  Since  that  object  is  out  of  the  way,  and 
after  the  consultation  of  those  great  specialists 
in  mental  disorder  cases,  I  am  led  to  hope  that 
Lucy  may  be  restored  to  us  in  all  the  glory  of 
her  former  mental  condition." 

"God  speed  the  day,"  exclaimed  Jack  fervently 
and  reverently. 

"The  specialists  affirm  that  as  this  aberration 
of  mind  was  produced  by  a  shock  and  as  there 
is  no  inherited  insanity  involved  in  the  case,  that 
the  restoration  may  occur  at  any  moment  in  the 
most  unexpected  manner.  A  surprise,  shock  or 
some  accident  may  instantly  produce  the  joyful 
change. 

"It  is  for  that  very  reason  that  I  have  insisted 
that  Burton  should  remain  near  at  hand,  and 
ready  to  respond  to  a  call  from  the  restored  wife 
for  her  husband's  presence.  We  must  bear  in 
mind  the  fact  that  Lucy,  before  this  hallucina 
tion,  was  devotedly  attached  to  her  husband  and 
grandfather.  With  the  return  of  her  reason 
we  may  justly  expect  the  return  of  her  former 
affections  and  feelings,"  interrupted  Jack  by  way 

242 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


of  explanation  of  something  he  had  done. 

"I  know  that,  Jack,  and  approve  of  your 
course,  but  I  am  only  a  weak  human  creature, 
and  notwithstanding  the  injunction  of  my  dying 
brother  to  blame  no  one,  I  cannot  eradicate  from 
my  mind  a  feeling  of  animosity  toward  Burton. 
I  know  that  he  is  not  culpable,  but  still  I  should 
be  glad  to  have  him  pass  out  of  our  lives,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  probable  effect  upon  Lucy  if 
she  ever  be  restored  to  reason.  However,  I  was 
not  displeased  by  his  decision  to  return  to  his 
own  house,  the  'Eyrie,'  until  his  presence  was  re 
quired  here." 

"Burton's  position,  sir,  has  been  a  very  trying 
one.  I  may  say  a  very  dreadful  one,  and  I  think 
that  he  has  acted  in  a  very  manly,  courageous 
manner,  sir,  and  I  think  it  our  duty,  as  Christian 
men,  to  put  aside  even  our  natural  repugnance 
to  the  author  of  our  misfortune  and  be  lenient 
toward  one  who  has  suffered  as  well  as  our 
selves." 

The  young  sailor  stopped,  hesitated,  and  then 
jerked  out  the  words 

"And  to  be  frank  and  outspoken  with  you,  sir, 

243 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


by  heavens !  I  am  saving  him  for  Lucy's  sake ;  if 
she  wish  him,  when  she  know  all,  she  shall 
have  him  safe  and  sound  if  it  cost  my  life." 
There  was  a  fierce  determination  in  Jack's  voice 
that  boded  no  good  to  Burton  should  he  attempt 
to  disappear,  nor  to  any  one  who  attempted  to 
injure  the  man  whom  Lucy's  loyal  sailor  knight 
was  safe-keeping  for  his  hopeless  love's  sake. 

"Jack,  I  love  you,  lad."  was  all  that  the  old 
Dunlap  said,  but  he  knew  and  felt  the  grandeur 
of  the  character  of  the  man,  who  pressed  the 
dagger  down  into  his  own  heart,  to  save  a  single 
pang  to  the  woman  whom  he  loved  so  unself 
ishly. 

"But  to  resume  the  recital  of  my  plans  and 
our  situation,"  said  the  old  gentleman  settling 
back  in  his  chair.  He  had  leaned  forward  to  pat 
Jack  on  the  shoulder. 

"We  agree  that  Lucy  cannot  be  subjected  to 
the  scrutiny  and  criticism  of  strangers.  I  pro 
pose,  that  as  the  physicians  advise  a  warmer  cli 
mate,  to  charter  the  'Adams/  have  the  cabin  re 
modeled  to  accommodate  Lucy,  your  mother,  the 
nurse  and  Lucy's  maid,  and  to  take  them  all  with 

244 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


me  to  Haiti,  just  as  soon  as  the  changes  in  the 
accommodations  on  your  ship  can  be  made." 

"Burton  goes  with  us,  of  course,"  said  Jack, 
assertively. 

"Well,  I  had  not  determined  that  point.  What 
do  you  think?" 

"Decidedly,  yes !  The  business  may  suffer, 
but  let  it.  What  is  business  in  comparison  to  the 
restoration  of  Lucy?"  cried  Jack  in  an  aggres 
sive  tone  of  voice. 

"It  shall  be  as  you  think  best,  my  lad.  The 
business  will  not  suffer  in  any  event,  for  since 
Burton's  return  to  his  position  as  manager,  he 
has  in  some  extraordinary  manner  become 
worthless  in  the  management  of  the  affairs  of 
the  house.  He  does  not  inspire  the  respect  that 
he  did  formerly  nor  does  he  seem  to  possess  the 
same  self-confidence  and  decision  of  character 
that  marked  his  manner  before  the  events  of  the 
past  few  weeks.  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
have  done  had  it  not  been  for  Chapman.  He  has 
taken  full  charge  of  everything  and  will  continue 
in  control  while  I  am  absent,  if  you  decide  to 
take  Burton  along." 

245 


BLOOD  WILL   TELL 


"You  surprise  me,  sir.  I  had  noticed  no  alter 
ation  in  Burton's  manner,"  exclaimed  Jack,  sin 
cerely  astonished  at  what  he  heard. 

"That  is  quite  likely  as  he  seems  to  regard  you 
with  a  kind  of  awed  respect,  but  nevertheless 
what  I  state  is  an  absolute  fact.  When  first  he 
made  his  appearance  at  the  office  he  endeavored 
by  a  brave,  bold  front  to  resume  his  position,  but 
somehow  his  attempt  was  a  lamentable  failure. 
He  seemed  to  feel  that  everyone  was  aware  that 
there  was  something  sham  about  his  assumed  dig 
nity  and  authority  and  like  an  urchin  caught  mas 
querading  in  his  father's  coat  and  hat,  he  has  dis 
carded  the  borrowed  garments  and  relapsed  into 
the  character  that  nature  gave  him.  Burton's 
succeeding  efforts  to  impress  the  office  forte  and 
people  with  whom  we  do  business  with  a  sense 
of  his  importance  have  been  absurdly  laughable," 
said  Mr.  Dunlap. 

"The  secret  of  the  child,  and  all  that  concerns 
our  family  is  confined  to  our  own  people,  and  a 
few  old  and  faithful  friends,  is  it  not?"  asked 
Jack  in  an  anxious,  troubled  voice. 

"Certainly,  but  that  apparently  does  not  lessen 

246 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Burton's  sense  of  being  garbed  in  stolen  apparel. 
I  can  notice  the  dignity  and  culture  of  the  white 
race  growing  less  day  by  day  in  Burton's  speech 
and  manner,  just  as  frost-pictures  on  a  window 
pane  lessen  each  hour  in  the  rays  of  the  sun  un 
til  naught  remains  but  the  naked  and  bared 
glass." 

"What  will  be  the  end  of  all  this,  if  you  be 
correct?"  cried  Jack. 

"One  by  one  the  purloined  habiliments  of  the 
superior  race  will  disappear  until  finally  he  will 
stand  forth  stripped  of  the  acquired  veneering 
created  by  the  culture  of  the  white  race,  a  negro. 
This  transformation,  which  I  think  time  will  ef 
fect,  recalls  to  me  an  example  of  the  inordinate 
vanity  and  love  of  parading  in  borrowed  plumage 
common  to  the  negro  race.  During  one  of  the 
numerous  insurrections  in  Haiti  I  used  to  see  one 
of  the  major  generals  of  the  insurgents — they 
had  a  dozen  for  every  hundred  privates — a  big 
black  fellow,  strut  about,  puffed  up  with  as 
sumed  importance  and  dignity.  In  less  than  one 
week  after  the  insurrection  was  suppressed  he 
was  at  my  door  selling  fish.  While  there  he  be- 

247 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


gan  to  'pat  Juba/  as  he  called  it,  and  dance,  gig 
gling  with  childish  glee  and  winding  up  the  per 
formance  by  begging  me  for  a  quarter.  There 
you  see  the  negro  of  it.  Prick  the  balloon  and 
when  the  borrowed  elevating  gas  escapes  the  skin 
collapses  immediately,"  said  John  Dunlap,  with 
the  positiveness  of  a  prophet. 

"God  grant  that  the  end  be  not  as  you  surmise 
or  let  God  in  His  mercy  continue  our  Lucy  in 
her  present  condition.  It  were  more  merciful. 
History  gives  the  records  of  men  of  the  negro 
race  who  did  not  end  their  lives  in  the  manner 
you  suggest,  however,"  replied  Jack,  extracting 
a  crumb  of  comfort  from  the  last  statement. 

"True!  my  lad,  true!  There  have  been  white 
elephants  and  white  crows;  in  every  forest  occa 
sionally  a  rare  bird  is  found.  So  with  the  negro 
race,  rare  exceptions  to  the  general  rule  do  ap 
pear  but  so  infrequently  as  to  only  accentuate 

the  accuracy  of  the  general  rule." 

****** 

Walter  Burton  was  seated  at  a  table  in  his 
bed-room  at  the  "Eyrie."  Before  him  were  scat 
tered  letters,  papers  and  writing  material.  It 

248 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


was  late  at  night  and  he  had  evidently  been  en 
gaged  in  assorting  and  destroying  the  contents 
of  an  iron  box  placed  beside  him  on  the  floor. 
His  elbows  were  on  the  table  and  his  chin  rested 
in  both  of  his  hands  while  he  gazed  meditatively 
at  the  flame  in  the  lamp  before  him. 

"I  am,  oh !  so  weary  of  this  farce.  How  I  long 
to  be  able  to  run  away  and  be  free,"  he  sighed  as 
he  said  this  to  himself.  After  a  little  while  he 
continued. 

"The  farce  has  been  played  to  the  final  act.  I 
know  it.  What  is  the  use  to  continue  upon  the 
stage  longer?  Should  Lucy's  mind  return  to  its 
normal  condition  she  must  be  informed  of  what 
has  transpired  and  then  my  happiness  will  ter 
minate  anyhow.  Of  what  earthly  use  is  it  for 
me  to  remain  here.  She  might  call  for  me  at 
first,  but  only  to  repulse  me  at  last.  I  am  toler 
ated  by  old  John  Dunlap,  hated  or  despised  by 
the  others  except  the  noblest  of  them  all,  Jack 
Dunlap.  He  relies  upon  my  word  of  honor.  I 
must  not  lose  his  respect.  I  would  to  God  I 
had  given  another  the  promise  not  to  disappear/' 

The  man  paused  for  some  time  in  his  solilo- 

249 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


quy  and  then  broke  out  again  by  exclaiming, 

"The  moment  that  the  nurse  showed  the  child 
to  me  a  curtain  of  darkness  seemed  to  roll  back. 
I  saw  clearly  what  produced  the  strange  spells 
that  for  so  long  have  mystified  me.  I  am  a  ne 
gro.  My  blood  and  natural  inclinations  are  those 
common  to  the  descendants  of  Ham.  It  matters 
not  that  my  skin  is  white,  I  am  still  a  negro.  The 
acquirement  of  the  education,  culture  and  refine 
ment  of  the  white  race  has  made  no  change  in 
my  blood  and  inherent  instincts.  I  am  ever  a 
negro.  Like  a  jaded  harlot  I  may  paint  my  face 
with  the  hues  of  health  but  I  am  like  her,  a  dis 
eased  imitator  of  the  healthy.  I  may  have  every 
outward  and  visible  sign  but  the  inward  and 
spiritual  grace  of  the  white  race  is  not  and  can 
never  be  mine.  I  am  a  wretched  sham,  fraud 
and  libel  upon  the  white  race  with  my  fair  skin 
and  affected  manner." 

The  man's  arms  fell  upon  the  table  and  he 
hid  his  head  in  them  and  groaned.  Thus  he  re 
mained  for  a  short  time,  then  raised  his  head  and 
cried  out, 

"I  even  doubt  that  my  Christianity  is  genuine 

250 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


and  not  a  hollow  mockery !  The  doctrine  of  Ma 
homet  is  received  more  readily,  and  practiced 
more  consistently  by  my  native  race  in  its  ancient 
home  of  Africa  than  the  pure  and  elevating 
teachings  of  Christ.  The  laws  of  Mahomet 
seem  more  consistent  with  the  sensual  nature  of 
my  race  than  the  chaste  commands  of  Christ. 
History  relates  that  Islamism  is  able  to  turn  an 
African  negro  from  idolatry  where  the  Christian 
religion  utterly  fails.  Are  my  protestations  of 
faith  in  Christianity  like  my  refinement,  culture 
and  manners,  merely  outward  manifestations  in 
imitation  of  the  white  race  and  as  deceitful  as  is 
the  color  of  my  skin?" 

Burton  sat  silent  for  several  moments  and  then 
said  in  a  tone  of  sad  reminiscence. 

"I  recall  how  everything  in  the  Christian  re 
ligion  or  service  that  appealed  to  the  emotional 
element  within  me  aroused  me,  but  is  my  nature 
as  a  negro,  susceptible  of  receiving,  retaining 
and  appreciating  permanently  the  truths  of  that 
purest  and  noblest  of  all  faiths?"  Again  the 
man  paused  as  if  silently  struggling  to  solve  the 
problem  suggested. 

251 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"It  has  of  late,  I  know,  become  the  fashion  to 
refuse  to  accept  the  Scriptures  literally,  but  there 
is  one  prophecy  concerning  the  descendants  of 
Ham  which  thousands  of  years  have  demonstrat 
ed  as  true." 

The  sculpture  of  that  oldest  of  civilizations, 
the  mother  of  all  culture,  the  Egyptian,  proves 
beyond  a  doubt  that  the  children  of  Ham  came 
in  contact  with  the  source  of  Greek  and  Roman 
culture  yet  they  advanced  not  one  step.  The 
profiles  of  some  even  of  the  early  Pharoahs  as 
seen  on  their  tombs  furnish  unmistakable  proof 
of  that  contact  in  the  Negroid  type  of  the  fea 
tures  of  Egypt's  rulers." 

"The  Romans  carried  civilization  to  every 
people  whom  they  conquered  and  to  those  who 
escaped  the  Roman  domination  they  bequeathed 
an  impetus  that  urged  them  forward,  with  the 
single  exception  of  the  accursed  Hamites." 

"The  Arabs  occupied  Northern  Africa  and  kept 
burning  the  torch  of  civilization  in  the  chaos  of 
the  Dark  Ages  in  Europe.  The  Arabs  frater 
nized  more  freely  with  the  sons  of  Ham  than  all 
other  branches  of  the  human  race,  but  failed  to 

252 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


push,  pull  or  drive  them  along  the  highway  of 
culture." 

"The  negro  race  seems  bound  by  that  old 
Scriptural  prophecy  concerning  the  descendants 
of  Ham.  It  does  not  advance  beyond  being  the 
hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water  for  the 
balance  of  mankind,  notwithstanding  five  thous 
and  years  of  opportunity  and  inducement." 

"The  negro  race  in  Africa,  its  ancestral  land, 
can  point  to  no  ruined  temples,  no  not  even 
mounds  like  can  the  American  Indians.  It  bor 
rowed  not  even  the  art  of  laying  stones  from 
Egypt.  It  has  no  written  language  though  the 
Phoenicians  gave  that  blessing  to  the  world.  It 
has  no  religion  worthy  of  the  name,  neither  laws 
nor  well  defined  language.  Notwithstanding  its 
association  with  Egyptian,  Roman  and  Arabian 
culture  and  civilization,  fountains  for  all  of  the 
thirsty  white  race,  the  negro  race  has  benefited 
not  at  all.  It  is  where  it  was  five  thousand 
years  ago.  God's  will  be  done!" 

Burton  paused  while  a  sneer  came  to  his  lips 
when  he  began  again  speaking. 

"Haiti,  after  decades  of  freedom,  starting  with 

253 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  benefits  conferred  by  the  religion  and  civili 
zation  of  one  of  the  leading  nations  of  earth,  is 
the  home  today  of  ignorance,,,  slothfulhess  and 
superstition.  Every  improvement  made  by  the 
former  white  rulers  neglected  and  passing  away. 
In  the  hands  of  the  white  race  it  had  now  been 
a  Paradise.  Liberia  is  as  dead,  stagnant  and 
torpid  as  if  progress  had  vanished  with  the  fos 
tering  care  of  the  white  nations  that  founded 
that  republic." 

The  young  man  ceased  in  recapitulating  the 
failures  of  his  race,  but  added  with  a  sigh, 

"In  America!  Well  one  may  grow  oranges 
in  New  England  by  covering  the  trees  with  glass 
and  heating  the  conservatory,  but  break  the  glass 
or  let  the  fire  expire  and  the  orange  trees  die. 
Break  the  civilization  of  the  white  race  in  Amer 
ica  like  the  glass,  let  the  fire  of  its  culture  be 
come  extinguished  and  alas  for  the  exotic  race 
and  its  artificial  progress." 

"But  enough  of  my  race,"  exclaimed  Burton 
impatiently  as  he  arose  from  the  table  and  began 
walking  about  the  room. 

"Formerly  I  tried  to  curb  an  inclination  that 

254 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


was  incomprehensible.  Now  that  I  know  the 
cause  I  rather  enjoy  the  relapses  into  my  natural 
self.  I  welcome  the  casting  aside  of  the  mask 
and  affectation  of  the  unreal.  It  is  a  relief.  The 
restraint  imposed  by  the  presence  of  those  who 
know  me  for  what  I  am,  is  irksome.  I  long  all 
day  for  the  freedom  of  my  isolation  here  in  the 
'Eyrie'  where  no  prying  eye  is  finely  discriminat 
ing  the  real  from  the  sham.  I  loath  the  office 
and  the  association  there.  Each  day  I  seem  to 
drop  a  link  of  the  chain  that  binds  me  to  an  arti 
ficial  existence." 

Suddenly  an  idea  seemed  to  present  some  new 
phase  to  the  soliloquizing  man.  He  put  his  hand 
to  his  head  as  if  in  pain,  and  cried  out, 

"But  the  end!    What  shall  it  be?" 


255 


XV. 

IT  was  good  of  you  Jack,  to  Have  Mr. 
Dunlap  invite  me  to  dine  with  him  this 
evening.  I  am  deucedly  weary  of  the 
'off  colored,'  "  exclaimed  Lieutenant  Tom  Maxon 
as  he  and  his  companion,  Captain  Jack  Dunlap 
walked  in  the  twilight  through  the  outskirts  of 
Port  au  Prince. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Tom,  I  was  not  think 
ing  of  your  pleasure  in  the  visit  half  so  much  as 
I  was  about  my  old  kinsman's.  You  see  we  have 
been  here  a  month,  and  as  my  Cousin  Lucy  is 
an  invalid  and  sees  no  company,  Mr.  Dunlap  has 
divided  his  great  rambling  house  into  two  parts. 
He  and  Burton  occupy  one  part  and  the  women 
folk  the  other;  I  join  them  as  often  as  possible 
but  as  Burton  is  exceedingly  popular  with  the 
dusky  Haitians  and  often  absent,  my  old  cousin 
is  apt  to  be  lonely.  I  thought  your  habitual  jolli- 
ness  would  do  him  good,  and  at  the  same  time 

256 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


secure  you  a  fine  dinner,  excellent  wine  and  the 
best  cigars  in  Haiti;  hence  the  invitation." 

i"How  is  Mrs.  Burton?  I  remember  her  from 
the  days  when  you,  the  little  Princes3  and  I  used 
to  make  'Rome  howl'  in  the  Dunlap  attic." 

"Lucy  is  much  improved  by  the  sea  voyage 
and  change  of  climate,  but  must  have  absolute 
quiet.  For  that  reason  my  mother  keeps  up  an 
establishment  in  one  part  of  the  house  to  insure 
against  noise,  or  intrusion,"  said  Jack. 

"I  hope  that  you  didn't  promise  much  jollity 
on  my  part  this  evening,  old  chum,  for  the 
thought  of  our  little  Princess  being  an  invalid 
and  under  the  same  roof  knocks  all  the  laugh 
and  joke  out  of  even  a  mirthful  idiot  like  Tom 
Maxon,"  said  the  lieutenant. 

"It's  sailing  rather  close  to  tears,  I  confess, 
Tom,  but  I  do  wish  you  to  cheer  the  old  gentle 
man  up  some  if  you  can,"  replied  Jack  as  they 
strolled  along  the  highway  between  dense  masses 
of  tropical  foliage. 

"I  say,  Jack,  is  Mr.  Dunlap's  place  much  fur 
ther?  I  don't  half  like  its  location,"  said  Maxon 
as  he  looked  about  him  and  noticed  the  absence 

257 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


of  houses  and  the  thick  underbrush. 

"Why?  What's  the  matter  with  it?  Are  you 
leg  weary  already,  you  sea-swab?"  cried  Dunlap 
laughing. 

"Not  a  bit;  but  I'll  tell  you  something  that 
may  be  a  little  imprudent  in  a  naval  officer,  but 
still  I  think  you  ought  to  know.  The  American 
Consul  fears  some  trouble  from  the  blacks  on 
account  of  the  concessions  that  Dictator  Dupree 
was  forced  to  grant  the  whites  before  the  Eng 
lish  and  American  bankers  would  make  the  loan 
that  Mr.  Dunlap  negotiated.  The  rumor  is  that 
the  ignorant  blacks  from  the  mountains  blame 
your  kinsman  and  mutter  threats  against  him. 
When  Admiral  Snave  received  the  order  at  Gib 
raltar  to  call  at  Port  au  Prince  on  our  way  home 
with  the  flag-ship  Delaware  and  one  cruiser,  we 
all  suspected  something  was  up,  and  after  we 
arrived  and  the  old  fighting-cock  placed  guards 
at  the  American  Consulate  we  felt  sure  of  it," 
replied  Lieutenant  Tom  seriously. 

"Oh!  pshaw,  these  black  fellows  are  always 
muttering  and  threatening  but  it  ends  at  that," 
•said  Jack  with  a  contemptuous  gesture. 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"  'Luff  round,'  shipmate,"  suddenly  called 
Tom  Maxon  grabbing  hold  of  Jack's  arm  and 
pointing  through  a  break  in  the  jungle  that  lined 
the  roadway. 

"Isn't  that  a  queer  combination  over  there  by 
that  dead  tree?"  continued  the  officer  directing 
Jack's  gaze  to  a  cleared  spot  on  the  edge  of  the 
forest. 

In  the  dim  light  could  be  distinguished  the 
figure  of  a  well-dressed  man,  who  was  not  black, 
in  earnest  conversation  with  a  bent  old  hag  of  a 
black  woman  who  rested  her  hand  familiarly  and 
affectionately  upon  his  arm.  Dunlap  started 
when  he  first  glanced  at  them.  The  figure  and 
dress  of  the  man  was  strangely  similar  to  that 
of  Walter  Burton. 

"Some  go-between  in  a  dusky  love  affair 
doubtless,"  said  Jack  shortly  as  he  moved  on. 

"Well,  I  think  I  could  select  a  better  looking 
Cupid,"  exclaimed  Tom  laughing  at  the  sug 
gestion  of  the  old  witch  playing  the  part  of  love's 
messenger. 

"By  the  way,  Jack,  speaking  of  Cupid,  I  re 
ceived  a  peculiar  communication  at  Gibraltar. 

259 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


It  was  only  a  clipping  from  some  society  paper 
ibut  this  was  what  it  said:  'Mr.  T.  DeMontmor- 
ency  Jones  has  sailed  in  his  magnificent  yacht 
the  "Bessie"  for  the  Mediterranean,  where  he 
will  spend  the  winter,  En  passant,  rumor  says 
the  engagement  between  Mr.  Jones  and  one  of 
Boston's  most  popular  belles  has  been  termina 
ted/  This  same  spindle  shanked  popinjay  of  a 
millionaire  was  sailing  in  the  wake  of  my  inam 
orata  and  was  said  to  have  cut  me  out  of  the  race 
after  my  Trafalgar.  So,  when  I  tell  you,  old 
chap,  that  the  writing  on  the  envelope  looks 
suspiciously  like  the  chirography  of  Miss  Eliza 
beth  Winthrop,  you  can  guess  why  I  can  sing 
There's  a  sweetheart  over  the  sea' 
'And  she's  awaiting  there  for  me.' " 

The  light-hearted  lieutenant  aroused  the  birds 
from  their  roosts  by  the  gusto  of  his  boisterous 
baritone  in  his  improvised  song.  He  stopped 
short  and  said  abruptly 

"Jack,  why  the  deuce  didn't  you  fall  in  love 
with  the  little  Princess  and  marry  her  yourself?" 

"Hold  hard,  Tom.  My  cousin  Lucy  is  the 
object  of  too  much  serious  concern  to  us  all  to 

260 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


'be  made  the  subject  of  jest  just  now,  even  by 
you,  comrade,  and  what  you  ask  is  infernal  non- 
sense  anyhow,"  replied  Jack,  somewhat  confused 
and  with  more  heat  than  seemed  justifiable. 

"Oh !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Jack.  You  know  that 
I'm  such  a  thoughtless  fool,  I  didn't  think  how 
the  question  might  sound,"  said  Tom  quickly,  in 
embarrassment. 

Captain  Dunlap  made  no  mistake  in  promising 
the  lieutenant  of  the  U.  S.  N.  a  good  dinner,  rare 
wine  and  fine  cigars.  John  Dunlap  in  the  desert 
of  Sahara  would  have  surrounded  himself,  some 
how,  with  all  the  accessories  necessary  to  an  ideal 
'host. 

GoOd'-natured  Tom  Maxon  exercised  himself 
to  the  utmost  in  cheering  the  old  gentleman  and 
dispelling  any  loneliness  or  gloom  that  he  might 
feel.  Tom  told  amusing  anecdotes  of  the  iras 
cible  admiral,  recounted  odd  experiences  and 
funny  incidents  in  his  term  of  service  among  the 
Philippinoes  and  Chinese ;  he  sang  queer  parodies 
on  popular  ballads,  and  rollicking,  jolly  sea  songs 
until  the  old  gentleman,  temporarily  forgetting 
his  care  and  grief,  was  laughing  like  a  school 
boy. 

261 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


When  they  were  seated,  feet  upon  the  railing, 
a  la  Americaine,  on  the  broad  piazza,  listening  to 
the  songs  of  the  tropical  night  birds,  as  they 
smoked  their  cigars,  the  lieutenant  recalled  the' 
subject  of  the  location  of  Mr.  Dunlap's  house,  by 
saying, 

"I  mentioned  to  Jack,  while  on  my  way  here, 
sir,  that  it  seemed  to  me  that  you  would  be  safer 
nearer  the  American  Consulate  in  case  any 
trouble  should  arise  concerning  the  concessions 
to  the  whites  made  by  Dupree." 

"Oh!  I  don't  think  that  there  is  any  occasion 
for  alarm.  To  bluff  and  bluster  is  part  of  the 
negro  nature.  The  whole  talk  is  inspired  by  the 
agitation  caused  by  the  Voo  Doo  priests  and 
priestesses  among  the  superstitious  blacks  from 
the  mountains.  By  the  way,  Jack,  our  old  friend 
the  witch  who  wished  to  sail  in  your  ship  with 
us  when  we  left  for  Boston,  still  haunts  my  prem 
ises."  As  if  to  corroborate  what  the  speaker  had 
just  said,  a  wailing  chant  arose  on  the  tranquil 
night  air,  coming  from  just  beyond  the  wall 
around  the  garden, 

"Oh!  Tu  Konk,  my  Tu  Konk" 
"Send  back  the  black  blood." 

262 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"There  she  is  now,"  exclaimed  Jack  and  Mr. 
Dunlap  at  the  same  time. 

"My  black  boy  who  waits  at  the  table  told  me 
that  the  old  crone  was  holding  meetings  nightly 
in  worship  of  Voo  Doo,  and  that  too  in  the  very 
suburbs  of  the  city,"  said  Mr.  Dunlap  when  the 
sound  of  old  Sybella's  voice  died  away  in  the 
distance. 

"Where  is  Burton  tonight?"  asked  Jack  as  if 
recalling  something. 

"I  don't  know.  When  he  does  not  appear  at 
the  established  dinner  hour  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  he  is  at  the  club  in  the  city  or  dining  with 
some  of  his  newly  made  friends.  He  is  quite 
popular  here,  being  a  Haitian  himself,"  replied 
the  old  gentleman 

It  was  late  that  night  when  Walter  Burton  en 
tered  the  apartments  reserved  for  his  exclusive 
use  in  the  house  of  John  Dunlap.  Throwing 
off  his  coat  he  sat  down  in  a  great  easy  chair  in 
the  moonlight  by  the  open  window  and  lighted  a 
cigar. 

"I  wish  that  I  were  free  to  fly  to  the  mountains 

263 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


and  'hide  myself  here  in  Haiti  among  my  own 
people  forever,"  sighed  the  young  man  glancing 
away  off  to  the  shadowy  outline  of  the  hills 
against  the  moonlit  sky. 

"The  sensation  of  being  pitied  is  humiliating 
and  hateful,  and  that  was  what  I  endured  during 
the  voyage  from  Boston,  and  have  suffered  ever 
since  I  arrived  and  have  been  in  enforced  asso 
ciation  with  the  Dunlaps.  The  devoted  love  for 
Lucy,  my  wife,  is  a  source  of  pain,  not  pleasure. 
Her  unreasoning  antipathy  now  is  more  bearable 
than  will  surely  be  the  repulsion  that  must  arise 
if,  when  restored  to  reason,  she  learn  that  I  am 
the  author  of  the  cause  of  her  disappointment, 
horror  and  dementia.  Woe  is  mine  under  any 
circumstances!  The  evil  consequences  of  at 
tempted  amalgamation  of  the  negro  and  white 
races  are  not  borne  alone  by  the  white  partici 
pants  but  fall  as  heavily  upon  those  of  the  negro 
blood  who  share  in  the  abortive  effort." 

Burton  seemed  to  ruminate  for  a  long  while, 
smoking  in  silence,  then  he  muttered, 

"Am  I  much  happier  when  with  my  own  race  ? 
Hardly !  When  I  am  in  the  society  of  even  the 

264 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


most  highly  culivated  Haitian  negroes  I  am  un 
able  to  free  myself  from  the  thought  that  we  are 
much  like  a  lot  of  monkeys,  such  as  Italian  street 
musicians  carry  with  them.  We  negroes  are 
togged  out  in  the  dignity,  education  and  culture 
of  the  white  race,  but  we  are  only  aping  the  nat 
ural,  self-evolved  civilization  and  culture  of  the 
whites.  The  clothing  does  not  fit  us,  the  gar 
ments  were  not  cut  according  to  our  mental  and 
moral  measurements,  and  we  appear  ridiculous 
when  we  don  the  borrowed  trappings  of  the  white 
race's  mind,  and  pompously  strut  before  an 
amused  and  jeering  world." 

"When  I  imagined  the  mantle  that  I  wore  was 
my  own  it  set  lightly  and  comfortably  on  me. 
Now  that  I  realize  that  it  is  the  property  of  an 
other,  it  has  become  cumbersome,  unwieldy,  awk 
ward  and  is  slipping  rapidly  from  my  shoulders." 

"On  the  other  side  of  the  subject  are  equal 
difficulties.  If,  weary  of  imitation  and  affecta 
tion,  I  seek  the  society  of  my  race  in  all  its  natural 
purity  and  ignorance,  my  senses  have  become  so 
acute,  softened  and  made  tender  by  the  long  use 
of  my  borrowed  mantle  that  I  am  shocked,  horri- 

265 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


fied  or  disgusted.  Oh!  Son  of  Ham,  escape 
from  the  doom  pronounced  against  you  while 
yet  time  was  new  seems  impossible.  In  My  Book 
it  is  writ,  saith  tfhe  Lord !" 

In  melancholy  musing  the  man  tortured  by  so 
many  contrary  emotions  and  feelings,  sat  silently 
gazing  at  the  distant  stars  and  them  cried  out  in 
anguish  of  spirit, 

"Oh!  that  I  should  be  forced  to  feel  that  the 
Creator  of  all  this  grand  universe  is  unjust! 
That  I  should  regard  education  and  culture  as  a 
curse  to  those  foredoomed  to  be  hewers  of  wood 
and  drawers  of  water.  That  I  should  realize 
that  refinement  is  a  cankerous  limb,  a  clog  and 
hindrance  to  a  negro,  unfitting  him  for  associa 
tion  with  his  own  race  and  yet  impotent  to  change 
those  innate  characteristics  inherited  by  him  from 
his  ancestors,  that  disqualify  him  from  homoge- 
neousness  with  the  white  race." 

The  young  man's  voice  was  full  of  despair  and 
even  something  of  reproach  as  his  subtle  intellect 
wove  the  meshes  of  the  adamantine  condition 
that  bound  him  helpless,  in  agony,  to  the  rack  of 
race  inferiority. 

266 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Mother  Sybella,  who  has  proven  herself  my 
great-grandmother,  urges  me  to  fly  and  seek 
among  my  own  people  that  surcease  from  suffer 
ing  unattainable  among  the  whites.  While  she 
fascinates  me,  she  fills  me  with  horror.  I  am 
drawn  toward  her  yet  I  am  repelled  by  something 
loathsome  in  the  association  with  her.  She  seems 
to  possess  hypnotic  power  over  my  senses;  she 
leads  me  by  some  magnetic  influence  that  exerts 
control  over  the  negro  portion  of  my  nature." 

"I  am  ashamed  to  be  seen  by  the  white  people, 
especially  the  Dunlaps,  in  familiar  conversation 
with  the  grandmother  of  my  mother,  but  in  our 
secret  and  frequent  interviews  she  has  told  me 
much  that  I  was  unaware  of  concerning  my  an 
cestors  and  my  mother.  I  have  promised  to  at 
tend  a  meeting  of  my  kinsmen  tomorrow  night, 
which  will  be  held  in  a  secluded  spot  near  the 
city,  whither  she  herself  will  guide  me.  I  do  not 
wish  to  go.  I  did  not  wish  to  make  the  promise 
and  appointment  to  meet  her,  but  was  compelled 
by  the  overmastering  power  she  wields  over  the 
natural  proclivities  within  me.  I  must  meet  her 
and  go  with  her." 

267, 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


The  struggle  in  the  dual  nature  of  the  man  be 
tween  the  contending  forces  of  the  innate  and 
the  acquired  was  obvious  in  the  reluctant  tone 
in  which,  while  he  admitted  that  he  would  obey 
the  innate,  he  lamented  the  abandonment  of  the 
a'cquired. 

"I  must  go,  I  feel  that  I  must!  My  destiny 
was  written  ere  Shem,  Ham  and  Japhet  sepa 
rated  to  people  the  world.  I  bow  to  the  inevi 
table!  I  am  pledged  to  Dupree  for  dinner  to 
morrow  evening,  but  I  shall  excuse  myself  early, 
and  keep  my  appointment  with  Mother  Sybella, 
and  accompany  her  to  the  meeting  of  my  kin 
dred. 


268 


3GVE 

THE  cleared  spot  selected  by  Mother 
Sybella  as  the  scene  of  her  mystic 
ceremonies  and  the  gathering  place 
of  the  worshipers  of  Voo  Doo,  though 
scarcely  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
was  so  screened  by  the  umbrageous  growth  of 
tropical  forest,  interlaced  with  vanilla  and  grape 
vines  that  festoon  every  woodland  of  Haiti,  that 
its  presence  was  not  even  suspected  save  by  the 
initiated. 

On  the  night  that  Dictator  Dupree  entertained, 
among  other  guests  the  wealthy  Haitian,  Walter 
Burton,  partner  in  the  great  American  house  of 
"J.  Dunlap,"  and  husband  of  the  heiress  to  the 
millions  accumulated  by  the  long  line  of  "J.  Dun- 
laps"  which  had  controlled  the  HaJitian  trade 
with  the  United  States,  a  strange  and  uncanny 
drama  was  enacted  almost  within  sound  of  the 
musk  that  enlivened  the  Dictator's  banquet. 

Through  trees  entwined  by  gigantic  vines,  re- 

269 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


semWing  monstrous  writhing  serpents,  glided 
silently  many  dark  forms  carrying  blazing 
torches  of  resinous  wood  to  guide  the  flitting  fig 
ures  through  the  intricacies  of  the  hardly  defin 
able  pathways  that  ran  in  serpentine  indistinct 
ness  toward  the  clear  spot,  where  Mother  Sybella 
had  set  up  the  altar  of  Tu  Konk,  and  was  calling 
her  children  to  worship  by  the  booming  of  an 
immense  red  drum  upon  which  she  beat  at  short 
intervals.  , 

In  the  center  of  the  clearing,  coiled  upon  the 
stump  of  a  large  tree,  was  a  huge  black  snake, 
that  occasionally  reared  its  head  and,  waving  it 
from  side  to  side,  emitted  a  fearful  hissing  sound 
as  it  shot  forth  its  scarlet,  flame-like  tongue. 

Torches  and  bon-fires  illuminated  the  spot  and 
cast  gleams  of  light  upon  the  dark  faces  and  dis 
tended,  white  and  rolling  eyes  of  the  men  and 
women  who,  squatting  in  a  circle  back  in  the 
shade  of  the  underbrush,  chanted  a  monotonous 
dirge-like  invocation  to  the  Voo  Doo  divinity 
called  by  fhem  Tu  Konk,  and  supposed  to  dwell 
in  the  loathsome  body  of  the  serpent  on  the 
stump. 

270 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


By  almost  imperceptible  degrees  the  blows  up 
on  the  drum  increased  in  frequency;  old  Sybella 
seemed  some  tireless  fiend  incarnate  as  gradually 
she  animated  the  multitude  and  quickened  the 
growing  excitement  of  her  emotional  listeners 
by  the  ceaseless  booming  of  her  improved  tom 
tom.  Soon  the  forest  began  to  resound  with 
hollow  bellowing  of  conch  shells  carried  by  many 
of  the  squatters  about  the  circle.  The  chant  be 
came  quicker.  Shouting  took  the  place  of  the 
droning  monotonous  incantations  to  Tu  Konk. 

Higher  and  higher  grew  the  gale  of  excite 
ment.  The  shouting  grew  in  volume  and  intens 
ity.  Wild  whoops  mingled  with  the  more  sonor 
ous  shouts  that  made  the  forest  reverberate. 

Suddenly  the  half-clad  figure  of  a  man  sprang 
into  the  circle  of  light  that  girded  the  stump 
whereon  the  now  irritated  snake  was  hissing  con 
tinuously.  The  man  was  bare  to  the  waist  and 
without  covering  on  his  legs  and  feet  below  the 
knees;  his  eyes  glared  about  him,  the  revolving 
white  balls  in  their  ebony  colored  setting  was 
something  terrifying  to  behold.  The  man  uttered 
whoop  after  whoop  and  began  shuffling  sideways 

Jfl 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


around  the  stump,  every  moment  adding  to  the 
rapidity  and  violence  of  his  motions  until  shortly 
he  was  madly  bounding  into  the  air  and  with 
savage  shouts  tearing  at  the  wool  on  his  head, 
while  white  foam  flecked  his  bare  black  breast. 

The  man's  madness  became  contagious.  Fig 
ure  after  figure  sprang  within  the  lighted  space 
about  the  serpent.  Men,  women,  and  even  chil 
dren  all  more  or  less  nude,  the  few  garments  worn 
presenting  a  'heterogeneal  kaleidoscope  of  vivid, 
garish  colors  as  the  frenzied  dancers  whirled 
about  in  the  irregular  light  of  the  torches  and 
bonfires. 

Soon  spouting  streams  of  red  stained  the  glis 
tening  black  bodies,  and  joined  the  tide  of  white 
foam  pouring  from  the  protruding,  gaping,  blub 
ber  lips  of  the  howling,  frantic  worshipers. 

The  fanatic  followers  of  Voo  Dooism  were 
wounding  themselves  in  the  delirium  of  irrespon 
sible  emotion.  Blood  gushed  from  long  gashes 
made  by  sharp  knives  on  cheeks,  breasts,  backs 
and  limbs.  The  gyrations  of  the  gory,  crazed 
and  howling  mass  were  hideous  to  behold. 

When  the  tempest  of  curbless  frenzy  seemed 

272 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


to  have  readied  a  point  beyond  which  increase 
appeared  impossible,  old  Sybella  rushed  forward, 
like  the  wraith  of  the  ancient  witch  of  Endor, 
dashing  the  dancers  aside,  springing  to  the  stump 
she  seized  the  snake  and  winding  its  shining 
coils  about  her  she  waved  aloft  the  long,  glitter 
ing  blade  of  the  knife  that  she  held  in  hand,  and 
shrieked  out,  in  the  voice  of  an  infuriated  fiend, 

"Bring  forth  the  hornless  goat.  Let  Tu  Konk 
taste  the  blood  of  the  hornless  one!" 

A  crowd  of  perfectly  naked  and  bleeding  men 
darted  forward  bearing  in  their  midst  an  entirely 
nude  girl,  who  in  a  perfect  paroxysm  of  terror 
fought,  writhed  and  struggled  fearfully,  yelling 
wildly  all  the  time,  in  the  grip  of  her  merciless 
and  insensate  captors. 

The  men  stretched  the  screaming  wretch  across 
the  stump  on  which  the  snake  had  rested,  pressed 
back  the  agonized  girl's  head  until  her  slender 
neck  was  drawn  taut.  Quick  as  the  serpent's 
darting  tongue,  Sybella's  bright,  sharp  blade  de 
scended,  severing  at  one  stroke  the  head  almost 
from  the  quivering  body. 

A  fiercer,  wilder  cry  arose  from  tire  insane  de- 

273 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


votees  as  a  great  tub  nearly  full  of  fiery  native 
rum  was  placed  to  catch  the  gushing  stream  that 
flowed  in  a  crimson  torrent  from  the  still  twitch 
ing  body  of  the  sacrifice  to  Voo  Doo. 

Sybella  stirred  the  horrible  mixture  of  blood 
and  rum  with  a  ladle,  made  of  an  infant's  skull 
affixed  to  a  shin-bone  of  an  adult  human  being, 
and  having  replaced  the  snake  upon  his  throne, 
on  the  stump,  in  an  abject  posture  presented  to 
the  serpent  the  ladle  filled  with  the  nauseating 
stuff.  The  re-incarnate  Tu  Konk  thrust  his  head 
repeatedly  into  the  skull-bowl  and  scattered  drops 
of  the  scarlet  liquid  over  his  black  and  shining 
coils. 

Then  Sybella  using  the  skull-ladle  began  filling 
enormous  dippers  made  of  gourds,  that  the  eager, 
maddened  crowd  about  the  Voo  Doo  altar  held 
expectantly  forth,  craving  a  portion  in  the  liba 
tion  to  Tu  Konk. 

The  maniacal  host  gorged  themselves  wich  the 
loathsome  fluid,  gulped  down  in  frenzied  haste, 
great  draughts  of  that  devilish  brew,  from  the 
large  calabashes  that  Sybella  filled. 

Now  hell  itself  broke  forth.    No  longer  were 

274 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  worshipers  men  and  women.  The  lid  was 
lifted  from  hell's  deepest,  most  fiendish  caldron. 
A  crew  of  damned  demons  was  spewed  out  upon 
earth.  With  demoniac  screams  that  rent  the 
calmness  of  the  night,  they  beat  and  gashed  them 
selves,  their  slabbering,  thick  lips  slapping  to 
gether  as  they  gibbered,  like  insane  monkeys, 
sending  flying  showers  of  foam  over  their  bare 
and  bleeding  bodies.  Human  imps  of  hell's  cre 
ation  fell  senseless  to  the  ground  or  writhing  in 
hideous,  inhuman  convulsions  twined  their  dis 
torted  limbs  about  the  furious  dancers  who 
stamped  upon  their  hellish  faces  and  brought 
the  dancers  shrieking  to  the  earth. 

In  the  midst  of  this  pandemonium,  redolent 
with  the  odor  of  inferno,  a  dark  figure,  that, 
crouched  in  the  deep  shade  of  the  clustering  palm 
plants,  and  covered  with  a  dark  mantle,  had  re 
mained  unnoticed  a  spectatortof  the  scene,  sprang 
up,  hurled  to  one  side  the  concealing  cloak  and 
bounded  toward  the  stump  whereon  the  serpent 
hissed  defiance  at  his  adorers. 

With  an  unearthly  yell,  half-groan,  half-moan, 
but  all  insane,  frantic  and  wild,  the  neophyte 

275 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


leaped  about  in  erratic  gyrations  of  adoration  be 
fore  the  snake,  that  embodiment  of  Tu  Konk,  the 
Voo  Doo  divinity. 

As  whirling  and,  in  an  ecstacy  of  emotion, 
waving  aloft  his  hands  the  howling  dancer  turned 
and  the  light  of  the  bonfire  fell  upon  nis  face,  the 
brutalized  features  of  Walter  Burton  were  re 
vealed. 

Those  refined,  aesthetic  features  that  had  made 
the  man  "the  observed  of  all  observers"  at  Miss 
Stanhope's  musicale  in  Boston,  had  scarcely  been 
recognized  as  the  same  in  the  strangely  flattened 
nose,  the  thickened  lips,  the  popped  and  rolling 
eyes  of  the  man  who,  in  the  forest  glade  of  Haiti 
danced  before  the  Voo  Doo  god  Tu  Konk  the 
serpent. 

Burton's  evening  dress  was  torn  and  disar 
ranged,  his  hair  disheveled,  his  immaculate  linen 
spotted  with  blood,  his  shoes  broken  and  muddy, 
his  face  contorted  and  agonized,  as  twisting  and 
squirming  in  every  limb  he  sprang  and  leaped  in 
a  fiercely  violent  dance  before  the  snake.  Yells 
of  long  pent-up  savage  fury  rang  through  the 
dank  night  air,  as  Burton  threw  back  his  head 
and  whooped  in  barbarous  license. 

276 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Sybella's  flashing  eyes  gleamed  with  joy  as  she 
gazed  at  this  reclaimed  scion  of  the  negro  race. 
She  stole  toward  the  flying  figure  that  spun 
around,  transported  to  the  acme  of  insane  emo 
tion,  singing  in  triumphant  screeches  as  s'he  crept 
forward, 

"Tu  Konk,  the  Great  one" 

"Tu  Konk,  I  thank  thee" 

"Back  comes  black  blood" 

"No  longer  childless" 

"Tu  Konk,  I  praise  thee." 

******** 

Mr.  Dunlap  was  aroused  at  daylight  by  a  mes 
senger  wearing  the  naval  uniform  of  the  United 
States,  who  waited  below  with  an  important  com 
munication  from  Lieutenant  Maxon. 

Two  hours  before  Mr.  Dunlap  heard  the  rap 
on  'his  bedroom  door,  a  pale  and  trembling  figure, 
clothed  in  a  dilapidated  evening  suit,  had  slunk 
stealthily  past  his  chamber  and  entered  the  apart 
ments  occupied  by  the  husband  of  the  Dunlap 
heiress. 

"Dear  Mr.  Dunlap. — I  am  instructed  by  Ad 
miral  Snave  to  inform  you  that  an  uprising  of 

277 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  blacks  is  imminent ;  that  it  will  be  impossible 
to  protect  you  in  your  exposed  position  should 
such  an  event  take  place.  The  admiral  suggests 
that  you  remove  your  family  at  once  to  the  Amer 
ican  Consulate,  where  protection  will  be  fur 
nished  all  Americans.  Very  respectfully, 

Thomas  Maxon, 

Lieut.  U.  S.  N." 

"P.  S. — Please  adopt  the  Admiral's  suggestion. 
I  think  you  had  better  let  Jack  know  about  this. 

T.  M." 

Such  were  the  contents  of  the  letter  of  which 
the  U.  S.  marine  was  bearer  and  it  was  answered 
as  follows : 

"Dear  Mr.  Maxon. — Express  my  gratitude  to 
Admiral  Snave  for  the  suggestion,  but  be  good 
enough  to  add  that  the  health  of  my  niece  de 
mands  absolute  quiet  and  that  I  shall  remain  here 
instead  of  going  to  the  crowded  Consulate;  that 
I  deem  any  disturbance  as  exceedingly  improb 
able  from  my  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
character  of  the  natives  of  this  island. 
Very  respectfully, 

J.  Dunlap. 
278 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


P.  S. — Will  notify  Jack  to  bring  a  man  or  two 
from  his  ship  to  guard  premises  for  a  night  or 
so." 

In  the  evening,  as  the  shadows  of  night  fell 
upon  the  house  of  Mr.  John  Dunlap  and  the  owls 
began  to  flutter  from  their  roosts  and  hoot,  Mr. 
Brice,  first  officer,  and  McLeod,  the  big,  bony 
carpenter  of  the  "Adams"  were  seated  on  the 
steps  of  the  piazza,  in  quiet  contentment,  puffing 
the  good  cigars  furnished  by  Mr.  Dunlap  after, 
what  seemed  to  them,  a  sumptuous  banquet. 

"I  declare,  Jack,  were  it  not  that  the  conse 
quences  might  be  serious,  I  should  rather  enjoy 
seeing  long-limbed  Brice  and  that  wild,  red- 
haired  Scotchman  of  yours,  led  by  you,  charging 
an  angry  mob  of  blacks,  armed  with  those  anti 
quated  cutlasses  that  your  fellows  brought  from 
the  ship.  The  blacks  would  surely  run  in  pure 
fright  at  the  supposed  resurrection  of  the  ancient 
buccaneers.  No  scene  in  a  comic  opera  could 
compare  with  what  you  and  your  men  would 
present,"  said  Mr.  Dunlap  in  an  amused  tone,  as 
foe  rocked  back  and  forth  in  an  easy  chair  on  the 
veranda,  and  chatted  with  his  namesake,  Jack. 

279 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"It  might  be  amusing  to  you,  sir,"  replied  Jack 
laughing,  "but  it  would  be  death  to  any  black 
who  came  within  the  swing  of  either  of  the  cut 
lasses  carried  by  Brice  and  McLeod.  I  picked 
up  a  half  dozen  of  those  old  swords  at  a  sale  in 
Manila,  and  decorated  my  cabin  with  them. 
When  I  told  the  men  that  there  might  be  a  fight 
they  could  find  no  other  weapons  on  board  ship 
so  denuded  my  cabin  of  its  decorations  and 
brought  them  along.  Of  course  I  have  a  revol 
ver  but  in  a  rush  those  old  cutlasses  could  do 
fearful  execution.  They  are  heavy  and  as  sharp 
as  razors." 

"While  I  am  unwilling  to  take  even  a  remote 
risk  with  Lucy  and  your  mother  in  the  house,  still 
in  my  opinion  there  is  not  one  chance  in  a  million 
that  anything  but  bluff  and  bluster  will  come  of 
this  muttering.  Admiral  Snave  is  always  anxious 
for  a  fight,  and  the  wish  is  father  of  the  thought 
in  this  alarm,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 

"Why  isn't  Burton  here?"  asked  Jack  almost 
angrily. 

"He  is  up  stairs.  He  has  been  feeling  ill  all 
day  and  asked  not  to  be  disturbed  unless  he  be 

280 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


needed.  I  shall  let  him  rest.  However,  he  has 
a  revolver  and  is  an  excellent  shot  and  will  prove 
a  valuable  aid  to  us  should  the  fools  attempt  to 
molest  the  premises." 

For  an  hour  or  two  Brice  and  McLeod  ex 
changed  an  occasional  word  or  two  but  gradually 
these  brief  speeches  became  less  frequent  and 
finally  ceased  altogether.  Mr.  Dunlap  and  Jack 
carried  on  a  desultory  conversation  for  some 
time,  but  had  sat  in  silent  communion  with  their 
own  thoughts  for  possibly  an  hour  when,  under 
the  somnific  influence  of  the  night  songsters,  the 
Scotch  ship-carpenter  yawned,  rose  to  his  feet 
and  stretched  his  long,  hairy  arms.  He  paused 
in  the  act  and  thrust  forward  his  head  to  catch 
some  indistinct  sound,  then  growled, 

"I  hear  murmuring  like  surf  on  a  lee-shore." 

Brice  arose  and  listened  for  a  minute  then 
called  out, 

"Captain,  I  hear  the  sound  of  bare  feet  patter 
ing  on  the  highway." 

Jack  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant  and  ran  down 
the  walk  to  the  gate  in  the  high  brick  wall  that 
surrounded  the  premises.  He  came  running  back 

281 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


almost  immediately  and  said  in  low  voice  as  he 
reached  the  piazza.. 

"There  is  a  mob  coming  toward  the  house, 
along  the  road  leading  from  the  mountains.  They 
carry  torches  and  may  mean  mischief.  Cousin 
John,  will  you  have  Burton  called  and  will  you 
please  remain  here  to  look  after  the  women.  Brice 
you  and  McLeod  get  cutlasses  and  bring  me  one 
also.  We  will  meet  the  mob  at  the  gate." 

"Oh !  It  is  nothing  Jack,  maybe  a  negro  frolic. 
No  use  arousing  Burton,"  said  the  elder  Dunlap. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  do  as  I  ask.  I  will  be  pre 
pared  in  any  event/'  said  Jack  Dunlap  tersely. 

"All  right,  Commander,  the  laugh  will  be  at 
your  expense,"  cried  the  amused  old  gentleman 
as  he  ordered  a  servant  to  call  Burton. 

Jack  and  his  two  stalwart  supporters  had  barely 
reached  the  gate  when  the  advance  guard  of  the 
savage  horde  of  black  mountaineers  appeared 
before  it.  Instantly  it  flashed  upon  the  mind  of 
the  skipper  that  if  he  barred  the  gate,  that  then 
part  of  the  mob  might  go  around  and  break  over 
the  wall  in  the  rear  of  the  house  and  attack  the 
defenceless  women. 

282 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Throw  open  the  gate,  McLeod,  we  will  meet 
them  here,"  commanded  Captain  Dunlap,  and 
turning  as  some  one  touched  his  shoulder,  he 
found  Burton  at  his  side,  very  pale  and  but  half 
clad,  with  a  revolver  in  his  hand. 

"Glad  you  are  here,  Burton." 

"I  did  not  have  time  to  put  on  my  shoes."  said 
Burton. 

The  main  body  of  the  mob  now  came  up  and 
gathered  about  the  open  gate.  The  men  were 
armed  with  clubs  and  knives  and  some  few,  who 
were  evidently  woodsmen,  carried  axes.  Many 
torches  shed  their  light  over  the  black  and  brutal 
faces,  making  them  appear  more  ebony  by  the 
white  and  angry  eyes  that  glared  at  the  men  who 
stood  ready  to  do  battle  just  within  trie  gate- way. 

"I  wish  you  people  to  understand  that  if  you 
attempt  to  enter  this  gate  many  of  you  will  be 
'killed." 

Young  Dunlap  spoke  in  a  quiet  voice,  as  he 
stood  between  the  pillars  of  the  gate,  but  there 
was  such  an  unmistakable  menace  in  the  steady 
tone  that  even  the  ignorant  barbarians  understood 
what  he  meant. 

283 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


For  the  space  of  a  minute  of  time  the  mob  hes 
itated.  Suddenly  a  tall  woodsman  struck  a 
sweeping,  chopping  blow  with  his  ax.  The  skip 
per  sprang  aside  just  in  time,  and  as  quick  as  a 
flash  of  lightning  a  stream  of  flame  poured  out 
of  the  pistol  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  that  woods 
man  would  never  chop  wood  again. 

Brice  and  McLeod  had  cast  aside  their  coats, 
and  with  their  long,  sinewy  arms  bared  to  the 
elbows,  cutlasses  grasped  in  their  strong  hands, 
they  were  by  Jack's  side  in  a  second. 

As  the  pistol  shot  rang  out  it  seemed  to  give 
the  signal  for  an  assault.  With  a  howl,  like 
wild  and  enraged  animals,  the  mob  rushed  upon 
the  men  at  the  gate.  The  rush  was  met  by  the 
rapid  discharge  of  the  revolvers  held  by  Dunlap 
and  Burton ;  for  a  moment  it  was  checked,  then  a 
shrill  voice  was  heard  screaming  high  above  the 
'howling  of  the  savages, 

"Kill  the  white  cow !  She  has  stolen  our  son 
from  us!  Kill  the  Yankee  robbers!  Spare  my 
black  goat!" 

Sybella  could  be  heard  though  concealed  by  the 
tall  black  men  of  the  mountains  who  again  hurled 

284 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


themselves  on  the  white  men  who  guarded  the 
gateway. 

The  revolvers  were  empty.  Jack  sent  his  fly 
ing  into  a  black  face  as  he  gripped  the  hilt  of  his 
cutlass  and  joined  old  Brice  and  the  carpenter  in 
the  deadly  reaping  they  were  doing.  Burton 
having  no  other  weapon  than  the  revolver,  threw 
it  aside  and  seized  a  club  that  had  dropped  from 
the  hands  of  one  of  the  slain  blacks. 

The  sweep  of  those  old  cutlasses  in  the  power 
ful  hands  that  held  them  was  awful,  magnificent ; 
no  matter  what  may  have  been  the  history  of 
those  old  blades  they  had  never  been  wielded  as 
now.  But  numbers  began  to  tell  and  the  infur 
iated  negroes  fought  like  fiends,  urged  on  by 
the  old  siren  Sybella  who  shrieked  out  a  kind  of 
battle  song  of  the  blacks. 

How  long  the  four  'held  back  the  hundreds 
none  can  tell,  but  it  seemed  an  age  to  the  fast 
wearying  men  who  held  the  gate.  A  blow  from 
an  ax  split  McLeod's  head  and  he  fell  dead  with 
out  even  a  groan.  Brice  turned  as  he  heard  his 
shipmate  fall  and  received  a  stunning  smash  on 
the  temple  from  a  club  that  felled  him  like  an 
ox  in  the  shambles. 

285 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Jack  saw  Burton,  who  was  fighting  furiously, 
beset  by  two  savage  blacks  armed  with  axes 
stuck  on  long  poles.  In  that  supreme  moment  of 
peril  the  thought  of  Lucy's  sorrow  at  loss  of  her 
husband,  should  she  be  restored  to  reason,  came 
to  the  mind  of  the  great  hearted  sailor.  He  reck 
lessly  rushed  in  front  of  Burton,  severed  at  a 
stroke  of  his  sword  the  arm  of  one  of  Burton's 
assailants,  and  caught  the  descending  ax  of  the 
other  when  within  an  inch  of  the  head  of  the  man 
who  had  taken  the  place  in  Lucy's  love  that  he 
had  hoped  for. 

Jack  Dunlap's  cutlass  warded  off  the  blow  from 
Burton  but  the  sharp  ax  glanced  along  the  blade 
and  was  buried  in  the  broad  breast  of  Lucy's 
knight,  and  he  fell  across  the  bodies  of  his  faith 
ful  followers,  Brice  and  McLeod;  Jack's  fast 
deafening  ears  caught  sound  of — 

"Follow  me,  lads,  give  them  cold  steel.  Don't 
s'hoot.  You  may  hit  friends!  Charge!" 

Tom  Maxon's  voice  was  far  from  jolly  now. 
There  was  death  in  every  note  of  it  as,  at  the 
head  of  a  body  of  United  States  Blue-jackets,  he 
dashed  in  among  the  black  barbarians.  When 

he  caught  sight  of  the  prostrate,  bleeding  form 
286 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


of  his  old  school-fellow  he  raged  like  a  wounded 
lion  among  Sybella's  savage  followers. 

As  the  lieutenant  saw  that  the  range  of  fire 
was  free  from  his  friends,  he  cried  out,  hoarse 
with  passion, 

"Fire  at  will.  Give  them  hell !"  and  he  emptied 
his  own  revolver  into  the  huddled  crowd  of  moun 
taineers,  who  still  stood,  brave  to  recklessness, 
hesitating  about  what  to  do  against  the  new  ad 
versaries. 

The  repeating  rifles  of  the  Americans  soon 
covered  the  roadway  with  dark  corpses.  Long 
lanes  were  cut  by  the  rapid  fire  through  the 
•black  mass.  With  howls  and  yells  of  mingled 
terror,  rage  and  disappointment  the  mob  broke 
and  taking  to  the  jungle  disappeared  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  adjacent  forest. 

A  sailor  kicked  aside  what  he  thought  was  a 
'bundle  of  rags,  and  started  back  as  the  torch  that 
he  'bore  revealed  the  open,  fangless  mouth  and 
snake-like,  glaring  eyes  of  an  old  crone  of  a 
woman  who  in  death  seemed  even  more  horrible 
than  in  life. 

A  rifle  ball,  at  close  range,  had  shattered 
Mother  Sybella's  skull. 

287 


XVII. 

ALL  established  rules  of  the  house  of  "J. 
Dunlap"  were  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians  to  David  Chapman,  invio 
lable.  When  the  hour  of  twelve  struck  and 
neither  Mr.  John  Dunlap  nor  Mr.  Burton  ap 
peared  at  the  office,  the  Superintendent  immedi 
ately  proceeded  to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Dunlap. 

"I  am  sorry,  Chapman,  to  have  given  you  the 
trouble  of  coming  out  here,  but  the  fact  is  I  am 
not  so  strong  as  formerly,  and  I  expected  that 
Burton  would  be  at  the  office  and  thought  a  day 
of  repose  might  benefit  me,"  remarked  Mr.  John 
Dunlap  as  Chapman  entered  his  library  carrying 
a  bundle  of  papers  this  March  afternoon. 

"Mr.  Burton  has  only  been  at  the  office  once 
within  the  past  week  and  not  more  than  a  dozen 
times  since  you  all  returned  from  Haiti  some  two 
monfths  ago,"  replied  the  Superintendent,  me 
thodically  arranging  the  various  memoranda  on 
the  large  library  table. 

288 


recklessly  rushed  in  front  of  Burton." 

Page  286 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"First  in  order  of  date  is  as  follows :  Douglass 
and  McPherson,  the  solicitors  at  Glasgow,  write 
that  they  have  purchased  the  annuity  for  old  Mrs. 
M'cLeod  and  that  the  income  secured  to  her  is 
far  larger  than  any  possible  comfort  or  even  lux 
ury  can  require ;  they  also  say  that  the  lot  in  the 
graveyard  has  been  secured  and  that  the  mother 
of  the  dead  ship  carpenter  is  rilled  with  gratitude 
for  the  granite  stone  you  have  provided  to  mark 
her  son's  grave  and  that  no  nobler  epitaph  for 
any  Scotsman  could  be  carved  than  the  one  sug 
gested  by  you  to  be  cut  on  the  stone,  'Died  de 
fending  innocent  women;'  they  expect  the  body 
to  arrive  within  a  few  days  and  will  follow  in 
structions  concerning  the  reinterment  of  the  re 
mains  of  gallant  McLeod ;  they  add  that  beyond 
all  expenditures  ordered  they  will  hold  a  balance 
to  our  credit  and  ask  what  is  your  pleasure  con 
cerning  same,  that  the  four  thousand  pounds 
remitted  by  you  was  far  too  large  a  sum." 

"Far  too  small!  Tell  them  to  buy  a  cottage 
for  McLeod's  mother  and  draw  at  sight  for  more 
money,  that  the  cottage  may  be  a  good  one. 
Why!  Chapman,  McLeod  was  a  hero;  but  they 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


were  all  of  them  that.  He,  however,  gave  his 
life  in  our  defense  and  there  is  no  money  value 
that  can  repay  that  debt  to  him  and  his,"  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Dunlap  earnestly,  and  leaning  for 
ward  in  the  excitement  that  the  recollection  of 
the  past  recalled,  continued: 

"David,  the  dead  were  heaped  about  the  spot 
where  McLeod,  Brice  and  Jack  fell  like  corded 
fire-wood.  When  I  could  leave  the  women, 
Lieutenant  Maxon  and  his  men  had  dispersed 
the  blacks,  I  fairly  waded  in  blood  to  reach 
the  place  where  Maxon  and  Burcon  were  bend 
ing  over  Jack.  It  was  a  fearful  sight.  It  had 
been  an  awful  struggle,  but  it  was  all  awful  that 
night.  I  dared  not  leave  the  women,  yet  I  knew 
that  even  my  weak  help  was  needed  at  the  gate. 
Had  my  messenger  not  met  Maxon  on  the  road, 
to  whom  notice  of  the  intended  attack  had  been 
given  by  a  friendly  black,  we  had  all  been  killed." 

The  excited  old  gentleman  paused  to  regain  his 
breath  and  resumed  the  story  of  that  dreadful 
experience. 

"Martha  Dunlap  is  the. kind  of  woman  to  be 
mother  of  a  hero.  She  was  as  calm  and  brave 

390 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


as  her  son  and  helped  me  like  a  real  heroine  in 
keeping  the  others  quiet.  We  told  Lucy  it  was 
only  a  jubilee  among  the  natives  and  that  they 
were  shouting  and  shooting  off  firearms  in  their 
sport  along  the  highway.  God  forgive  me  for  the 
falsehood,  but  it  served  to  keep  our  poor  girl  per 
fectly  calm  and  she  does  not  even  now  know  to 
the  contrary."  Mr.  Dunlap  reverently  inclined 
his  head  when  he  spoke  of  that  most  excusable 
lie  that  he  had  told. 

"Jack  does  not  get  all  of  his  nerve  and  courage 
from  the  Dunlap  blood,  that  is  sure !  When  the 
surgeon  was  examining  the  great  gash  in  his 
breast,  Martha  stood  at  his  side  and  held  the 
basin ;  her  hand  never  trembled  though  her  tear 
less  face  was  as  white  as  snow.  All  the  others 
of  us,  I  fear,  were  blubbering  like  babies,  I  know, 
anyhow  Tom  Maxon  was  whimpering  more  like 
a  lass  than  the  brave  and  terrible  fighter  that  he 
is.  When  the  surgeon  gave  us  the  joyful  news 
that  the  blow  of  the  ax  had  been  stopped  by  the 
strong  breast  bone  over  our  boy's  brave  heart, 
we  were  all  ready  to  shout  with  gladness,  but 
Martha  then,  woman  like,  broke  down  and  began 
weeping." 

291 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


There  was  rather  a  suspicious  moisture  in  the 
eyes  of  the  relator  of  the  scene,  as  he  thought 
over  the  occurrences  of  that  night  in  Haiti.  Even 
though  all  danger  was  past  and  his  beloved  name 
sake,  Jack  Dunlap,  was  now  so  far  recovered  as 
to  be  able  to  walk  about,  true  somewhat  paler 
in  complexion  and  with  one  arm  bound  across 
his  breast,  but  entirely  beyond  danger  from  the 
blow  of  the  desperate  Haitian  axman. 

"That  fighting  devil  of  an  American  admiral 
soon  cleared  Port  au  Prince  of  the  insurgents 
and  wished  me  to  take  up  my  residence  at  the 
consulate,  but  I  had  enough  of  Haiti,  for  awhile 
anyway.  So  as  soon  as  Jack  could  safely  be 
moved,  and  old  Brice,  whose  skull  must  be  made 
of  iron,  had  come  around  sufficiently  after  that 
smashing  blow  in  the  head,  to  take  command  of 
the  'Adams'  and  navigate  her  to  Boston,  I  bun 
dled  everybody  belonging  to  me  aboard  and 
sailed  for  home."  The  word  home  came  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  from  Mr.  Dunlap's  lips  as  :he  set 
tled  back  in  his  chair. 

"When  we  heard  v/f  your  frightful  experience, 
I  hid  some  faint  hope  that  the  shock  might  have 
293 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


restored  Mrs.  Burton  to  her  normal  condition 
of  mind,"  said  Chapman. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place  Lucy  learned  nothing 
concerning  the  affair,  and  was  simply  told  when 
she  called  for  Jack  that  he  was  not  well  and 
would  be  absent  from  her  for  a  short  time.  But 
even  had  she  received  a  nervous  shock  from  the 
harrowing  events  of  that  night,  the  experts  in 
mental  disorders  inform  me  that  it  is  most  un 
likely  that  any  good  result  could  have  been  pro 
duced  ;  that  as  the  primary  cause  of  her  dementia 
is  disappointed  hope,  expectation,  and  the  recoil 
of  the  purest  and  best  outpouring  of  her  heart, 
that  the  only  shock  at  all  probable  to  bring  about 
the  desired  change  must  come  from  a  similar 
source,"  answered  Mr.  Dunlap. 

"To  proceed  with  my  report,"  said  the  Super 
intendent  glancing  over  some  papers. 

"Lieutenant  Maxon  is  not  wealthy,  in  fact,  has 
only  his  pay  from  the  United  States,  and  while 
his  family  is  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  highly 
respected  in  Massachusetts  all  the  members  of  it 
are  far  from  rich.  The  watch  ordered  made  in 
New  York  will  be  finished  by  the  time  the  U.  S. 

293 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Ship  Delaware  arrives,  which  will  not  be  'before 
next  month." 

"That  all  being  as  you  have  ascertained,  I  am 
going  to  make  a  requisition  upon  your  ingenuity, 
David.  You  must  secure  the  placing  in  Maxon's 
hands  of  twenty  one-thousand  dollar  bills  with 
no  other  explanation  than  that  it  is  from  'an  ad 
mirer.'  The  handsome,  gay  fellow  may  think 
some  doting  old  dowager  sent  it  to  him.  The 
watch  I  will  present  as  a  slight  token  of  my 
friendship  when  I  have  him  here  to  dine  with 
me,  and  he  can  never  suspect  me  in  the  money 
matter."  Mr.  Dunlap  chuckled  at  the  deep  cun 
ning  of  the  diabolical  scheme. 

Chapman  evidently  was  accustomed  to  the  un 
stinted  munificence  of  the  house  of  Dunlap,  for 
he  accepted  the  instruction  quite  as  a  mere  detail 
of  the  business,  made  a  few  notes  and  with  his 
pen  held  between  his  teeth  as  he  folded  the  paper, 
mumbled : 

"I'll  see  that  he  gets  the  money  all  right,  sir, 
without  knowing  where  it  comes  from." 

"Here  are  several  things  that  Mr.  Burton,  who 
is  familiar  with  the  preceding  transactions, 

294 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


should  pass  upon,  but  as  he  is  so  seldom  at  the 
office,  I  have  had  no  opportunity  to  lay  them  be 
fore  him,"  continued  the  ever  vigilant  Chapman, 
turning  over  a  number  of  documents. 

"I  know  even  less  than  you  do  about  Burton's 
department,  so  make  out  the  best  way  that  you 
can  under  the  circumstances." 

"Is  Mr.  Burton  ill,  sir,  or  what  is  the  reason 
why  he  is  absent  from  the  office  so  much  ?"  asked 
Chapman,  to  whom  it  seemed  that  the  greatest 
deprivation  in  life  must  be  loss  of  ability  to  be 
present  daily  in  the  office  of  J.  Dunlap. 

"I  am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  explain  Burton's  con 
duct,  especially  since  our  return  from  Haiti.  He 
is  morbid,  melancholy,  and  seems  to  avoid  the 
society  of  all  those  who  formerly  were  his  chosen 
associates  and  companions.  He  calls  or  sends 
here  daily  with  religious  regularity  to  ascertain 
the  condition  of  Lucy's  health,  and  occasionally 
asks  Jack  to  accompany  him  on  a  ride  behind 
his  fine  team.  You  know  that  he  is  aware  that 
Jack  saved  his  life  by  taking  the  blow  on  his  own 
breast  that  was  aimed  at  Burton's  head.  He 
was  devoted  to  Jack  on  the  voyage  home  and 

295 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


here,  until  Jack's  recovery  was  assured  beyond  a 
doubt,  but  now  he  acts  so  peculiarly  that  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  him,"  replied  the  per 
plexed  old  gentleman. 

"Humph!  Humph!"  grunted  Chapman,  in  a 
disparaging  tone,  and  resumed  the  examination 
of  the  sheets  of  paper  before  him.  Selecting  one, 
he  said: 

"I  find  Malloy,  the  father  of  the  girl,  who  was 
the  victim  of  that  nameless  crime  and  afterward 
murdered,  to  be  a  respectable,  worthy  man,  poor, 
but  in  need  of  no  assistance.  He  is  a  porter  at 
Brown  Brothers.  It  appears  that  the  girl,  who 
was  only  fifteen  years  of  age,  was  one  of  the 
nursery  maids  in  the  Greenleaf  family,  and  had 
obtained  permission  to  visit  her  father's  home  on 
the  night  of  the  crime  and  was  on  her  way  there 
when  she  was  assaulted." 

"What  has  been  done  by  the  Police  Depart 
ment?"  asked  Mr.  Dunlap  eagerly. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  very  little.  The  detectives 
seem  mystified  by  a  crime  of  so  rare  occurrence 
in  our  section  that  it  has  shocked  the  whole  of 
New  England.  However,  I  know  what  would 

296 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


have  happened  had  the  crowd  assembled  around 
Malloy's  house  when  the  body  was  brought  home, 
been  able  to  lay  hands  on  the  perpetrator  of  the 
deed,  the  whole  police  force  of  Boston  notwith 
standing." 

"What  do  you  mean,  David?" 

"I  mean  that  the  wretch  would  have  been 
lynched,"  exclaimed  Chapman. 

"That  had  been  a  disgrace  to  the  Common 
wealth  of  Massachusetts,"  said  the  old  gentleman 
warmly. 

"That  may  or  may  not  be,  sir.  Malloy  and 
his  friends  are  all  peaceable,  law-abiding  citizens. 
Malloy  was  almost  a  maniac,  not  at  the  death 
of  his  child  but  the  rest  of  the  crime,  and  the 
agony  of  the  heart-broken  father  was  too  much 
for  the  human  nature  of  his  neighbors,  and  hu 
man  nature  is  the  same  in  New  England  as  else 
where  in  our  land  " 

"But  the  law  will  punish  crime  and  must  be 
respected  no  matter  what  may  be  the  provocation 
to  ignore  its  regular  administration  of  justice," 
said  Mr.  Dunlap  with  a  judicial  air. 

"Truth  is,  sir,  that  one  can  hardly  comprehend 

297 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


a  father's  feelings  under  such  circumstances,  and 
I  don't  imagine  there  is  a  great  difference  be 
tween  the  paternal  heart  in  Massachusetts  and  in 
Mississippi.  Human  nature  is  much  alike  in  the 
same  race  in  every  clime.  Men  of  the  North 
may  occasionally  be  slower  to  wrath  but  are  fear 
fully  in  earnest  when  aroused  by  an  outrage," 
rejoined  Chapman. 

"I  frankly  confess,  David,  that  I  recognize  that 
it  is  one  thing  for  me  to  sit  here  calmly  in  my 
library  and  coolly  discuss  a  crime  in  which  I  have 
no  direct  personal  interest,  and  announce  that 
justice  according  to  written  law  only  should  be 
administered,  but  it  would  be  quite  a  different 
state  of  mind  with  which  I  should  regard  this 
crime  if  one  of  my  own  family  were  the  victim 
of  the  brute's  attack.  I  fear  then  I  should  forget 
about  my  calm  theory  of  allowing  the  regular 
execution  of  justice  and  everything  else,  even  my 
age  and  hoary  head,  and  be  foremost  in  seeking 
quick  revenge  on  the  wretch,"  said  the  old  New 
Englander  hotly. 

"Knowing  you  and  your  family  as  I  do,  sir, 
I'll  make  oath  that  you  would  head  the  mob  of 
lynchers." 

298 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"My  brother  James,  who  was  the  soul  of  honor 
and  a  citizen  of  whom  the  Commonwealth  was 
justly  proud,  was  very  liberal  in  his  opinion  of 
lynching  for  this  crime.  It  was  the  single  crim 
inal  act  for  which  his  noble,  charitable  heart 
could  find  no  excuse.  I  think  even  my  brother 
James,  model  citizen  though  he  was,  would  have 
been  a  law-forgetting  man  under  such  circum 
stances." 

Old  John  Dunlap's  voice  grew  soft  and  tender 
when  he  mentioned  the  name  of  his  beloved 
brother,  and  either  Chapman  became  extraordi 
narily  near-sighted  or  the  papers  in  his  hand  re 
quired  close  scrutiny. 

"I  have  published  the  notice  of  the  reward  of 
one  thousand  dollars  offered  by  our  house  for  the 
capture  of  the  perpetrator  of  the  crime,"  said  the 
Superintendent  rather  huskily,  changing  the  sub 
ject  from  that  of  the  character  of  his  old  master. 

"That  is  well,  we  are  the  oldest  business  house 
in  Boston,  and  none  can  think  it  presumptuous 
that  we  should  be  anxious  to  erase  this  stain 
from  the  escutcheon  of  our  Commonwealth.  I 
wish  every  inducement  offered  that  may  lead  to 

299 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  apprehension  of  the  criminal."  Mr.  Dunlap 
stopped  short  as  if  suddenly  some  new  idea 
had  occurred  to  his  mind,  and  then  exclaimed: 

"David,  you  possess  a  wonderful  faculty  for 
fathoming  deep  and  complex  mysteries.  Why 
don't  you  seek  to  discover  the  perpetrator  of  this 
horrible  crime?" 

David  Chapman  was  not  in  the  habit  of  blush 
ing,  but  certainly  his  cheeks  took  on  an  unusually 
bright  crimson  hue,  as  Mr.  Dunlap  asked  the 
question,  and  he  answered  in  a  somewhat 
abashed  manner,  as  though  detected  in  some  act 
of  youthful  folly. 

"I  confess,  sir,  that  I  am  making  a  little  inves 
tigation  in  my  own  way.  There  are  a  few 
trifling  circumstances  and  fragments  of  evidence 
left  by  the  criminal  that  were  considered  un 
worthy  of  attention  by  the  police  that  I  am  trac 
ing  up,  like  an  amateur  Sherlock  Holmes." 

"Good  for  you,  David!  May  you  succeed  in 
unearthing  the  brutal  villain !  You  have  carte- 
•blanche  to  draw  on  the  house  for  any  expense 
that  your  search  may  entail.  Go  ahead !  I  will 
stand  by  you !"  cried  John  Dunlap  enthusiasti 
cally. 

300 


XVIII. 

THE  abysmal  depth  of  degradation  has 
now  been  reached;  I  no  longer,  even 
in  my  moments  of  affected  refinement, 
attempt  to  conceal  the  fact  from  myself,  the 
gauzy  veil  of  acquisition  no  longer  deceives  even 
me,  it  long  since  failed  to  deceive  others." 

What  evil  genii  of  metamorphosis  had  trans 
formed  the  debonair  Walter  Burton  into  the 
wretched,  slovenly,  brutalized  being  who,  grunt 
ing,  gave  utterance  to  such  sentiments,  while 
stretched,  in  unkempt  abandonment,  on  a  dis 
ordered  couch  in  the  center  of  the  unswept  and 
neglected  music-room  in  the  'Eyrie'  early  on  this 
March  morning? 

Even  the  linen  of  the  once  fastidious  model  of 
masculine  cleanliness  was  soiled,  and  the  delights 
of  the  bath  seemed  quite  unknown  to  the  heavy- 
eyed,  listless  lounger  on  the  couch. 

"I  have  abandoned  useless  effort  to  rehabilitate 

301 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


myself  in  the  misfit  garments  of  a  civilization 
and  culture  for  which  the  configuration  of  my 
mental  structure,  by  nature,  renders  me  unsuited. 
My  child  indicated  the  off-springs  natural  to  me. 
My  emotion  and  actions  in  the  forest  of  Haiti 
gave  evidence  of  the  degree  of  the  pure  spirit  of 
religion  to  be  found  in  my  inmost  soul,  and  my 
conduct,  following  natural  inclinations,  since  my 
return  10  Boston,  has  demonstrated  how  little 
control  civilization,  morality,  or  pity  have  over 
my  inherent  savage  nature." 

The  man  seemed  in  a  peculiar  way  to  derive 
some  satisfaction  from  rehearsing  the  story  of 
his  hopeless  condition,  and  in  the  fact  that  he  had 
reached  the  limit  of  descent. 

"I  should  have  fled  to  the  mountains  of  Haiti, 
had  I  not  been  led  to  fight  against  my  own  kins 
men.  For  the  moment  I  was  blinded  by  the 
thread-bare  thought  that  I  was  of  the  white  in 
stead  of  black  race,  and  when  I  had  time  to  free 
my  mind  from  that  old  misleading  idea,  my  hands 
were  stained  with  the  blood  of  my  own  race.  I 
was  obliged  to  leave  Haiti  or  suffer  the  fate  that 
ever  overtakes  a  traitor  to  his  race." 

302 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"There  is  no  hope  of  the  restoration  of  my 
wife's  mental  faculties,  and  even  should  there  be 
that  is  all  the  more  reason  for  my  fleeing  from 
Boston  and  forever  disappearing,  I  retain  enough 
of  the  borrowed  refinement  of  the  whites  in  my 
recollection  to  know  that  as  I  am  now  I  should  be 
loathesome  to  her." 

"Here,  I  must  shun  the  sight  of  those  who 
•know  me,  realizing  that  I  can  no  longer  appear 
in  the  assumed  character  that  I  formerly  did. 
Here,  I  skulk  the  streets  at  night  in  the  apparel 
of  a  tramp  seeking  gratification  of  proclivities 
that  are  natural  to  me." 

"I  know  that  I  must  leave  this  city  and  country 
as  quickly  as  possible.  The  long  repressed  de 
sires  natural  to  me  break  forth  with  a  fury  that 
renders  me  oblivious  to  consequences  and  my  own 
safety.  Repression  by  civilization  and  culture 
foreign  to  a  race  but  serves  to  increase  the  vio 
lence  of  the  outburst  when  the  barrier  once  is 
broken." 

"I  will  go  to  the  office  today,  secure  some  pri 
vate  documents  and  notify  Mr.  Dunlap  that  I 
desire  to  withdraw  at  once  from  the  firm  of  J. 

303 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Dunlap.  I  will  nerve  myself  for  one  more  act 
in  the  farce.  I  will  don  the  costume  in  which  I 
paraded  the  stage  so  long  for  one  more  occa 
sion." 

Burton  arose  slowly  from  his  recumbent  posi 
tion  as  if  reluctant  to  resume  even  for  a  day  a 
character  that  had  become  tiresome  and  obnox 
ious  to  his  negro  nature. 

David  Chapman  had  on  several  occasions  made 
suggestions  to  the  head  of  the  Police  Department 
in  Boston  that  had  resulted  in  the  detection  and 
apprehension  of  elusive  criminals.  Unlike  many 
professional  detectives,  Chief  O'Brien  welcomed 
the  aid  of  amateurs  and  listened  respectfully  to 
theories,  sometimes  ridiculous,  but  occasionally 
suggestive  of  the  correct  solution  of  an  appar 
ently  incomprehensible  crime. 

The  deductive  method  of  solving  the  problem 
of  a  mysterious  crime  employed  by  Chapman  was 
not  alone  interesting  to  the  Chief  of  Detectives, 
but  appeared  wonderful  in  the  correctness  of  the 
conclusions  obtained.  He  therefore  gave  eager 
attention  to  what  Chapman  communicated  to  'him 

304 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


while  seated  in  the  Chief's  private  office  on  the 
evening  of  the  day  that  Burton  visited  the  office 
of  J.  Dunlap  to  secure  his  private  correspond 
ence  and  documents. 

"In  the  first  place,  Chief,  as  soon  as  I  learned 
the  details  of  this  Malloy  crime,  I  decided  that 
the  perpetrator  of  it  was  of  the  negro  race,"  said 
Chapman,  methodically  arranging  a  number  of 
slips  of  paper  on  the  Chief's  desk,  at  which  he 
sat  confronting  O'Brien  on  the  opposite  side. 

"How  did  you  arrive  at  that  decision?"  said 
the  detective. 

"Well,  as  you  are  aware,  for  you  laughed  at 
me  often  enough  when  you  ran  across  me  with 
my  black  associates,  I  'slummed'  among  the 
negroes  for  months  to  gain  some  knowledge  of 
the  negro  nature'' 

"Yes,  I  know  that  and  often  wondered  at  your 
persistent  prosecution  of  such  a  disagreeable  un 
dertaking,"  said  O'Brien. 

"I  learned  in  that  investigation  that  beneath 
the  surface  of  careless,  thoughtless  gaiety  and 
good  nature  there  lies  a  tremendous  amount  of 
cruelty  and  brutal  savagery  in  the  negro  nature ; 

305 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


that  dire  results  have  been  caused  by  a  miscon 
ception  of  the  negro  character  on  this  point  to 
those  associated  with  them;  that  while  sensual 
'satiety  produces  lassitude  in  other  races,  in  the 
negro  race  it  engenders  a  lust  for  blood  that  al 
most  invariably  results  in  the  murder  of  the  vic 
tim  of  a  brutal  attack.  I  checked  the  correctness 
of  my  conclusions  by  an  examination  of  all  ob 
tainable  records  and  completely  verified  the  accu 
racy  of  my  deduction." 

"That  had  not  occurred  to  me  before,"  said  the 
Chief  frankly ;  "now  that  you  mention  it,  I  think 
from  the  record  of  that  crime,  as  it  recurs  to  me 
at  this  moment,  that  your  statement  is  true." 

"The  next  step  was  to  look  for  the  particular 
individual  of  the  negro  race  who  could  fit  in  with 
the  trifling  evidence  in  your  possession,  which 
you  so  readily  submitted  to  me.  From  the  mold 
taken  by  your  men  of  the  criminal's  foot-prints  it 
is  evident  that  his  feet  were  small  and  clad  in 
expensive  shoes.  In  the  shape  of  the  imprints  I 
find  corroboration  of  my  premise  that  the  author 
of  the  crime  was  of  the  negro  race.  The  frag 
ment  of  finger  nail  embedded  in  the  girl's  throat, 

306 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


under  a  microscope  reveals  the  fact  that,  while 
the  nail  was  not  free  from  dirt,  it  had  recently 
been  under  the  manipulation  of  a  manicure  and 
was  not  of  thick,  coarse  grain  like  a  manual 
laborer's  nails,"  said  the  amateur  detective  glanc 
ing  at  his  notes. 

"Yes,  I  agree  in  all  that,  Mr.  Chapman.  Go 
ahead;  what  follows?"  remarked  O'Brien. 

"We  have  then  a  negro,  but  one  not  engaged 
in  the  usual  employment  of  the  negro  residents 
in  Boston,  to  look  for;  next  you  found  clutched 
in  the  fingers  of  the  dead  girl  two  threads  of 
brownish  color  and  coarse  material,  together  with 
a  fragment  of  paper  like  a  part  of  an  envelope 
on  which  was  written  a  few  notes  of  music." 

"Yes,  and  I  defy  the  devil  to  make  anything 
result  from  such  infinitesimal  particles  of  evi 
dence,"  exclaimed  the  professional  detective. 

"Well,  I'm  not  the  devil,"  said  Chapman, 
quietly  proceeding  to  recapitulate  the  process 
adopted  by  him. 

"From  the  few  notes — you  know  that  I  am 
something  of  a  musician — I  began,  poco  a  poco, 
as  they  s>ay  in  music,  to  reconstruct  the  tune  of 

307 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


which  the  few  notes  were  a  part.  As  I  proceeded, 
going  over  the  notes  time  and  again  on  my  violon 
cello,  I  became  convinced  that  I  had  heard  that 
wild  tune  before,  and  am  now  able  to  say  where 
and  w'hen." 

"Wonderful,  perfectly  wonderful  if  you  can, 
Chapman,"  cried  the  thoroughly  interested  Chief. 

"What  next?"  O'Brien  asked,  impatient  at  the 
calmness  of  the  man  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
desk. 

"To-day  I  saw  the  finger  that  the  fragment  of 
nail  found  in  the  girl's  neck  would  fit,  and  one 
finger-nail  had  been  broken  and  was  gone,"  con 
tinued  Chapman,  by  great  effort  restraining  the 
evidence  of  the  exultation  that  he  felt. 

"Where,  man,  where?  And  whose  was  the 
hand?"  gasped  O'Brien. 

"Wait  a  moment!  Upon  reflection  I  realized 
that  the  only  part  of  a  man's  apparel  likely  to  give 
way  in  a  desperate  struggle  would  be  a  coat 
pocket ;  that  the  hand  of  the  girl  had  grasped  the 
edge  of  the  pocket  and  in  so  doing  had  closed 
upon  an  old  envelope  in  the  pocket,  which  was 
torn  and  remained  in  her  hand  with  a  couple  of 

308 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


threads  from  the  cloth  of  the  coat  when  the  mur 
derer  finally  wrenched  the  coat  out  of  her  life 
less  fingers." 

"Quite  likely,"  exclaimed  the  Chief  impa 
tiently. 

"But  hurry  along,  man,"  urged  the  officer. 

"This  afternoon  I  examined  under  the  most 
powerful  microscope  procurable  in  Boston  the 
threads  that  your  assistant  has  in  safe  keeping.  I 
recognized  the  color  and  material  of  which  those 
threads  are  made.  I  know  the  coat  whence  the 
threads  came,  and  the  owner  of  the  coat,"  de 
clared  Chapman  emphatically. 

"His  name,"  almost  yelled  the  astonished  de 
tective. 

"David  Chapman,"  was  the  cool  and  triumph 
ant  reply. 

The  Chief  glared  at  the  exultant  amateur  with 
wonder,  in  which  a  doubt  of  the  man's  sanity 
was  mingled. 

"It  is  the  coat  of  the  suit  I  wore  while  'slum 
ming'  in  my  investigations  concerning  the  negro 
race.  It  has  hung  in  my  private  closet  in  the 
office  until  some  time  within  the  last  two  months, 

309 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


when  it  was  abstracted  by  some  one  having  keys 
to  the  private  offices  of  J.  Dunlap.  Mr.  Dunlap, 
Walter  Burton  and  I  alone  possess  such  keys. 
Burton,  like  me,  is  tall  and  slim,  the  suit  will  fit 
him ;  Burton  is  of  the  negro  race ;  I  heard  Burton 
play  the  tune  of  which  the  few  notes  are  part 
when  I  went  to  his  house  on  the  only  occasion 
that  I  ever  visited  the  'Eyrie;'  Burton's  shoes — 
I  tried  an  old  one  to-day  which  was  left  at  the 
office  some  months  ago — exactly  fit  the  tracks 
left  by  the  murderer.  Burton  having  no  suit 
that  he  could  wear  as  a  disguise  while  rambling 
the  streets  in  search  of  adventure,  found  and  ap 
propriated  my  old  'slumming'  suit.  You  will  find 
that  suit,  blood-stained,  the  coat  pocket  torn,  now 
hidden  somewhere  in  the  'Eyrie'  if  it  be  not  de 
stroyed.  Walter  Burton  is  guilty  of  the  Malloy 
assault  and  murder !"  Chapman  had  risen  from 
his  chair,  his  face  was  aflame  with  vindictiveness 
and  passion,  his  small  eyes  blazing  with  satisfied 
hatred  as  he  almost  yelled,  in  his  excitement,  the 
denunciation  of  Burton. 

"Great  God !  man,  it  can't  be,"  gasped  the  Chief 
of  Detectives,  saying  as  he  regained  his  breath, 

310 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


"Burton  and  the  Dunlaps  are  not  people  to 
make  mistakes  with  in  such  a  horrible  case  as 
this." 

"Burton  has  withdrawn  from  our  firm.  He 
has  provided  himself  with  a  large  sum  of  cur 
rency.  He  is  leaving  the  country.  Tomorrow 
night  he  dines  with  Mr.  Dunlap  to  complete  the 
arrangements  for  the  severance  of  his  relations 
with  the  house  of  J.  Dunlap.  Captain  Jack  Dun- 
lap  will  dine  with  Mr.  Dunlap  on  that  occasion, 
and  I  shall  be  there  to  draw  up  any  papers  re 
quired.  The  coast  will  be  clear  at  the  'Eyrie;' 
go  there  upon  the  pretext  of  arresting  Victor, 
Burton's  valet,  on  the  charge  of  larceny;  search 
thoroughly  the  premises;  if  you  find  the  gar 
ments,  and  the  coat  is  in  the  condition  I  describe, 
come  at  once  to  the  Dunlap  mansion  and  arrest 
the  murderer,  or  it  will  be  too  late,  the  bird  will 
have  flown."  The  veins  in  Chapman's  brow  and 
neck  were  fairly  bursting  through  the  skin,  so 
intense  were  the  passion  and  vehemence  of  the 
man  who,  straining  forward,  shouted  out  direc 
tions  to  the  detective. 

O'Brien  sat  for  several  minutes  in  silence,  bur- 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ied  in  deep  meditation,  glancing  ever  and  anon 
at  Chapman,  who,  chafing  with  impatience,  fairly 
danced  before  the  desk..  The  official  arose  and, 
walking  to  the  window,  stood  for  some  time  gaz 
ing  out  upon  the  lighted  street  below.  Suddenly 
he  turned  and  came  back  to  Chapman,  whom  he 
held  by  the  lapel  of  the  coat,  while  he  said, 

"Chapman,  I  know  that  you  hate  Burton.  I 
•know  also  of  your  fidelity  to  the  Dunlaps.  You 
would  never  have  told  this  to  me,  even  as  much 
as  you  hate  Burton,  if  it  were  not  true.  This  dis 
closure  and  disgrace,  if  it  'be  as  you  suspect,  will 
wound  those  dear  to  you." 

This  phase  of  the  situation  had  evidently  not 
occurred  to  David  Chapman  in  his  zeal  for  satis 
faction  to  his  all-consuming  hatred  of  Burton. 
He  dropped  his  eyes,  nervously  clasped  and  un 
clasped  his  hands,  while  'his  face  paled  as  he 
faltered  out, 

"Well — maybe  you  had  best  not  act  upon  my 
suggestions;  I  may  be  all  wrong." 

"There,  Mr.  Chapman,  is  where  I  can't  agree 
with  you.  I  am  a  sworn  officer  of  this  common 
wealth,  and,  by  heavens!  I  would  arrest  the 

312 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


governor  of  the  state  if  I  knew  it  to  be  my  duty. 
Not  all  the  money  of  the  Dunlaps  or  in  the  whole 
of  Massachusetts  could  prevent  me  from  laying 
my  hand  on  Walter  Burton  and  placing  him  un 
der  arrest  for  the  murder  of  the  Malloy  girl,  if 
I  find  the  clothing  you  mention  in  the  condition 
you  describe.  I  shall  wait  to  make  the  search  at 
the  'Eyrie'  until  tomorrow  night,  that  if  there  be 
a  mistake  it  shall  not  'be  an  irreparable  one,"  said 
the  conscientious  Chief  of  Detectives  sternly,  in 
a  determined  tone  of  voice. 

"But  I  may  be  mistaken,"  urged  the  agitated 
amateur  detective. 

"You  have  convinced  me  that  there  are  grounds 
for  your  statements;  I  know  them  now,  and, 
knowing  them,  by  my  oath  of  office,  must  take 
action,"  quietly  replied  O'Brien. 

"Then  promise  to  keep  my  connection  with  the 
case  a  secret,  except  what  may  be  required  of  me 
•as  a  witness  subpoenaed  to  appear  and  testify," 
cried  the  now  remorseful  Chapman. 

"That  I  will,  and  readily  too,  as  it  is  but  a 
small  favor  in  comparison  to  the  great  aid  you 
have  been  to  our  department,  and  is  not  in  con- 

313 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


flict  with  my  duty.    I  shall  also  collect  and  hand 
over  to  you  all  of  the  reward." 

"Never  mind  the  reward ;  keep  it  for  your  pen 
sion  fund,"  replied  the  regretful  Superintendent 
of  J.  Dunlap,  who  had  played  detective  once  too 
often  and  too  well  for  his  own  peace  of  mind. 


XIX 

NEVER  had  there  assembled  beneath  the 
roof  of  the  Dunlap  mansion  since  the 
old  house  was  constructed,  a  company 
so  entirely  uncomfortable  as  that  around  the  table 
in  the  library  on  the  night  that  Walter  Burton 
dined  for  the  last  time  with  Mr.  Dunlap. 

John  Dunlap's  mind  was  filled  with  doubts 
concerning  what  was  his  duty  with  regard  to 
Burton,  having  due  consideration  for  the  memory 
of  his  deceased  brother,  and  as  to  what  would 
have  been  the  wish  of  that  beloved  brother  under 
existing  circumstances.  Recognizing,  as  John 
Dunlap  did,  the  influence  that  his  personal  antip 
athy  for  Burton  had  upon  his  conduct,  he  was 
nervous  and  uncomfortable. 

Burton  felt  the  restraint  imposed  upon  him  irk 
some,  even  for  the  time  of  this  brief  and1  final 
visit  to  the  home  where  his  best  emotions  had 
been  aroused,  and  the  purest  delights  of  his  arti- 

315 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ficial  existence  enjoyed.  He  was  anxious  to  be 
gone,  to  be  free,  to  forget,  and  was  impatient  of 
delay. 

Jack  Dunlap,  pale  and  somewhat  thin,  still 
carrying  his  arm  bound  to  his  breast,  felt  the 
weight  of  the  responsibility  resting  upon  him  in 
releasing  Lucy's  husband  from  a  promise  that 
for  months  had  held  him  near  her  should  the 
husband's  presence  be  required  at  any  moment, 
and  was  correspondingly  silent  2nd  meditative. 

Nervous,  expectant  and  fearful,  David  Chap 
man  sat  only  half  attentive  to  what  was  said  or 
•done  around  him.  His  ears  were  strained  to 
catch  the  first  sound  that  announced  the  coming 
of  the  visitors  which  he  now  dreaded. 

"The  terms  of  the  settlement  of  my  interest  in 
your  house,  Mr.  Dunlap,  are  entirely  too  liberal 
to  me,  and  I  only  accept  them  because  of  my 
anxiety  to  be  freed  from  the  cares  of  business  at 
the  earliest  possible  moment,  and  am  unwilling 
to  await  the  report  of  examining  accountants," 
said  Walter  Burton  as  he  glanced  over  the  paper 
submitted  to  him  by  Chapman. 

"Do  you  expect  to  leave  the  city  at  once?" 

316 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


asked  Mr.  Dunlap  in  a  hesitating,  'doubtful  voice. 

"Yes,  I  will  make  a  tour  through  the  Southern 
States,  probably  go  to  California  and  may  return 
and  take  a  trip  to  Europe.  I  have  promised  Cap 
tain  Dunlap  to  keep  your  house  informed  of  my 
movements  and  address  at  all  times,  and  shall 
immediately  respond,  by  promptly  returning,  if 
my  presence  in  Boston  be  called  tor,"  replied 
Burton. 

"I  confess,  Burton,  that  my  mind  is  not  free 
from  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  allowing  you 
to  withdraw  from  our  house.  I  should  like  to 
act  as  my  brother  James  would  have  done.  His 
wishes  are  as  binding  upon  me  now  as  when  he 
lived,"  said  Air.  Dunlap  in  a  low  and  troubled 
voice. 

"It  is  needless  to  rehearse  the  painful  story  of 
the  last  few  months,  Mr.  Dunlap.  Had  your 
brother  lived  he  must  have  perceived  the  total 
vanity  of  some  of  his  most  cherished  wishes  re 
garding  the  union  of  his  granddaughter  and  my 
self.  Heirs  to  his  name  and  estate  must  be  im 
possible  from  that  union  under  the  unalterable 
conditions.  My  wife's  dementia  and  her  irra- 

31?, 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


tional  aversion  to  my  presence  would  have  influ 
enced  him  as  it  does  you  and  me,  and — I  might 
as  well  say  it — I  am  aware  of  the  fact  and  realize 
the  naturalness  of  the  sentiment.  I  am  persona 
non  grata  here." 

There  was  a  tinge  of  bitterness  in  the  closing 
sentence  and  Burton  accompanied  it  with  a  de 
fiant  manner  that  evinced  much  concealed  resent 
ment. 

As  Burton  ceased  speaking,  the  eyes  of  the 
four  men  sitting  at  the  table  turned  to  the  door, 
hearing  it  open.  The  footman  who  had  opened 
it  had  hardly  crossed  the  threshold  when  he  was 
pushed  aside  by  the  firm  hand  of  Chief  of  De 
tectives  O'Brien,  who,  in  full  uniform,  followed 
by  a  man  in  citizens'  dress  carrying  a  bundle  un 
der  his  arm,  entered  the  room. 

Mr.  Drnilap  hurriedly  arose  and  advancing 
with  outstretched  hand  exclaimed, 

"Why!  Chief,  this  is  an  unexpected  pleas 
ure—" 

"Mr.  Dunlap,  stop  a  moment."  There  was  a 
look  in  the  official's  eyes  that  froze  Mr.  Dunlap's 
welcome  on  his  lips  and  nailed  him  to  the  spot  on 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


which  he  stood.  Chapman  glanced  at  Burton, 
on  whom  O'Brien's  gaze  was  fastened.  Burton 
had  risen  and  stood  trembling  like  an  aspen  leaf 
without  a  single  shade  of  color  left  in  cheeks  or 
lips.  Jack  Dunlap's  face  flushed  somewhat  in 
dignantly  as  he  rose  and  walked  forward  to  the 
side  of  his  kinsman. 

"With  all  due  regard  for  that  high  respect  I 
entertain  for  you,  Mr.  Dunlap,  it  has  become  my 
painful  duty  to  enter  your  house  tonight  in  my 
official  capacity  and  arrest  one  accused  of  the  most 
serious  crime  known  to  the  law."  While  O'Brien 
was  speaking  he  moved  toward  the  table,  never 
removing  his  eyes  from  Burton. 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  cried  Jack  in  a 
wrathful  voice,  interposing  himself  between 
O'Brien  and  the  table. 

"Stand  aside,  Captain  Dunlap !"  said  the  Chief 
sternly.  Quickly  stepping  to  Burton's  side  and 
placing  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  he  said, 

"Walter  Burton,  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of 
the  Commonwealth,  on  the  charge  of  murder." 

With  a  movement  too  quick  even  for  a  glance 
to  catch,  the  Chief  jerked  Burton's  hands  togeth- 

319 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


er  and  snapped  a  pair  of  handcuffs  on  the  wrists 
of  the  rapidly  collapsing  man. 

The  eyes  of  all  present  were  fixed,  in  stupified 
amazement,  on  O'Brien  and  Burton,  and  had  not 
seen  what  stood  in  the  open  doorway  until  a  low 
moan  caused  Jack  to  turn  his  head.  He  saw 
then  the  figure  of  Lucy  slowly  sinking  to  the 
floor. 

Lucy  in  her  wanderings  about  the  house  was 
passing  through  the  hall  when  the  uniformed 
officer  entered.  Attracted  by  the  unusual  spec 
tacle  of  a  man  in  a  blue  coat  ornamented  with 
'brass  buttons,  she  had  followed  the  policeman 
and  overheard  all  that  he  had  said,  and  seen 
what  he  had  done. 

"I  will  furnish  bail  in  any  amount,  O'Brien," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Dunlap,  staying  the  two  officers 
by  stepping  before  them  as  they  almost  carried 
Burton,  unable  to  walk,  from  the  room. 

"Please  stand  aside,  Mr.  Dunlap,"  said  the 
Chief  kindly. 

"Don't  make  it  harder  than  it  is  now  for  me 
to  do  my  duty,"  and  gently  pushing  the  old  gen 
tleman  aside,  O'Brien  and  his  assistant  bore  Bur- 

320 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


ton  from  the  library  and  the  Dunlap  mansion. 

"Help  me,  quick!  Lucy  has  fainted!"  called 
Jack,  who,  crippled  as  he  was,  could  not  raise 
the  unconscious  wife  of  Burton. 

When  Mr.  Dunlap  reached  Jack's  bending  fig 
ure,  Lucy  opened  her  eyes,  gazed  about  wildly 
for  an  instant,  gasped  for  breath  as  if  suffocat 
ing,  and  suddenly  sprang  unassisted  to  her  feet, 
as  if  shot  upward  by  some  hidden  mechanism. 

"Walter!  My  husband!  Where  is  he ?  Where 
is  grandfather?  What  has  happened?"  she  cried 
out,  in  a  confused  way,  as  one  just  aroused  from 
a  sound  sleep. 

Jack  and  Mr.  Dunlap  stared  at  her  for  a  mo 
ment  in  wonderment ;  then  something  in  her  eyes 
gave  them  the  gladsome  tidings,  in  this  their 
'hour  of  greatest  trouble,  that  reason  had  resumed 
its  sway  over  loved  Lucy's  mind ;  she  was  restored 
to  sanity.  The  shock  had  been  to  her  heart  and 
restored  her  senses,  as  a  similar  shock  had  de 
prived  her  of  them.  The  experts  had  predicted 
correctly. 

"Walter  is  in  trouble,  danger.  I  heard  that 
policeman  say  murder !  Save  my  husband,  Jack ! 
Uncle  John!  Where  is  my  grandfather?" 

321 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Jack  finally  gathered  enough  of  his  scatterexj 
composure  to  reply  somehow  to  the  excited  young 
woman.  He  said  all  that  he  dared  say  so  soon 
after  the  return  of  reason  to  her  distracted  head. 

"Be  calm,  Cousin  Lucy !  Your  grandfather  is 
absent  from  the  city.  You  have  been  ill.  Your 
Uncle  John  and  I  will  do  all  in  our  power  to  aid 
Walter  if  he  be  in  danger." 

She  turned  her  eyes  toward  her  Uncle  John 
and  regarded  him  steadily  for  the  space  of  a  min 
ute,  and  then  she  whirled  about  and  faced  Jack, 
crying  out  in  clear  and  ringing  tones, 

"I  will  not  trust  Uncle  John.  He  dislikes 
Walter  and  always  has,  but  you !  you,  Jack  Dun- 
lap,  I  trust  next  to  my  God  and  my  good  grand 
father.  Will  you  promise  to  aid  Walter?" 

"I  promise,  Lucy.  Now  be  calm,"  said  Jack 
gently. 

There  was  no  madness  now  in  Lucy's  bright, 
gleaming,  hazel  eyes ;  womanly  anxiety  as  a  wife 
was  superb  in  its  earnestness.  She  was  grand, 
sublime  as  with  the  majestic  grace  of  a  queen 
of  tragedy  she  swept  close  to  her  cousin,  then 
raising  herself  to  her  greatest  height,  with  her 

322 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


hand  extended  upward,  pointing  to  heaven,  she 
commanded  as  a  sovereign  might  have  done. 

"Swear  to  me,  Jack  Dunlap,  by  God  above  us 
and  your  sacred  honor,  that  you  will  stop  at 
nothing  in  the  effort  to  save  my  husband. 
Swear!" 

"I  swear,"  said  the  sailor  simply  as  he  raised 
his  hand. 

The  woman's  manner,  speech,  and  the  scene 
did  not  seem  strange  to  those  who  stood  about 
her.  She  was  suddenly  aroused  to  reason  to  find 
the  object  of  her  tenderest  love  in  direst  danger; 
her  stay,  prop  and  reliance,  her  grandfather,  un 
accountably  absent.  In  that  trying  stress  of  cir 
cumstances,  the  intensity  of  the  feeling  within 
her  wrought-up  soul  found  expression  in  exces 
sive  demand's  and  exaggerated  attitudes. 

"Now  go!  my  Jack;  hurry  after  Walter  and 
help  him,"  she  urged  as  with  nervous  hands  she 
pushed  him  toward  the  door. 

Next  morning,  when  the  newspapers  made  the 
startling  announcement  that  a  member  of  the 
firm  of  J.  Dunlap,  Boston's  oldest  and  wealthiest 
business  house,  had  been  arrested  on  the  charge 

323 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


of  that  nameless  crime  and  the  murder  of  the 
Malloy  girl,  the  entire  city  was  stunned  by  the 
intelligence. 

A  crowd  quickly  gathered  around  the  city  jail. 
Threatful  mutterings  were  heard  as  the  multi 
tude  increased  in  numbers  about  the  prison.  When 
Malloy  came  and  his  neighbors  clustered  about 
the  infuriated  father  of  the  outraged  victim,  that 
slow  and  slumbering  wrath  that  lies  beneath  the 
calm,  deceptive  surface  of  the  New  England 
character  began  to  make  itself  evident.  "Tear 
down  the  gates!"  "Lynch  the  fiend,"  and  such 
expressions  were  heard  among  the  men,  momen 
tarily  growing  louder,  as  the  cool  exterior  of  the 
Northern  nature  gave  away. 

Soon  many  seafaring  men  were  seen  moving 
among  the  most  excited  of  the  mob,  saying  as 
they  passed  from  one  group  to  another,  "It's  not 
true !  You  know  the  Dunlaps  too  well !"  "Keep 
quiet,  it's  a  lie !"  "Dunlap  offered  a  reward  for 
the  arrest  of  the  villain ;  it  can't  be  as  the  papers 
say!" 

One  sailor-man,  who  carried  a  crippled  arm, 
mounted  a  box  and  made  a  speech,  telling  the 

324 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


people  there  must  be  a  mistake  and  begging  them 
to  be  quiet.  When  'he  said  that  his  name  was 
Dunlap,  the  seafaring  men  began  to  cheer  for 
"Skipper  Jack,"  and  the  mob  joined  in.  Seeing 
one  of  the  Dunlap  name  so  calm,  honest  and 
brave  in  their  very  midst,  the  mob  began  to 
doubt,  and  shaking  their  heads  the  people  moved 
gradually  away  and  dispersed,  persuaded  that 
naught  connected  with  the  worthy  Dunlap  name 
could  cause  such  foul  wrong  and  disgrace  to  the 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts. 

The  best  legal  talent  of  New  England  was  re 
tained  that  day  for  the  defense  of  Burton.  When 
they  had  examined  the  circumstantial  evidence 
against  Burton  they  frankly  told  Jack  Dunlap 
that  an  alibi,  positively  established,  alone  could 
save  the  accused  man. 

The  unselfish  sailor  sought  the  seclusion  of  his 
cabin  on  board  his  ship,  that  lay  at  anchor  in  the 
harbor,  there  to  ponder  over  the  tenible  infor 
mation  given  him  by  the  leading  lawyers  of  Bos 
ton. 

Uncomplainingly  the  man  had  resigned  his 
hope  of  the  greatest  joy  that  could  come  to  his 

325 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


strong,  unselfish  soul — Lucy's  love.  For  the  sake 
of  her  whom  he  loved  he  had  concealed  his  suf 
fering.  He  had  smothered  the  sorrow  that  well 
nigh  wrenched  the  heart  out  of  his  bosom,  that 
he  might  minister  to  her  in  the  hour  of  her  men 
tal  affliction.  He  had  shed  his  blood  in  shielding 
with  his  breast  the  man  whom  she  had  selected 
in  his  stead.  All  this  he  had  done  as  ungrudg 
ingly  and  gladly  as  he  had  tended  her  slightest 
bidding  when  as  wee  maid  she  had  ruled  him. 

Love  demanded  of  this  great  heart  the  final 
and  culminating  sacrifice.  Could  he,  would  he 
offer  up  his  honor  on  the  altar  of  his  love? 

To  this  knight  by  right  of  nature,  honor  and 
truth  were  dearer  far  than  his  blood  or  his  life. 
Would  he  surrender  the  one  prize  he  cherished 
highest  for  his  hopeless  love's  sake? 

"I  will  swear  that  you  were  aboard  my  ship 
with  me  every  hour  of  the  night  on  which  the 
crime  of  which  you  stand  accused  was  commit 
ted.  An  absolute  alibi  alone  can  save  you.  May 
God  forgive  you!  May  God  forgive  me!  and 
may  the  people  of  Massachusetts  pardon 

Perjured  Jack  Dunlap." 

326 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Such  was  the  letter  sent  by  the  sailor,  by 
well  paid  and  trusty  hand,  to  the  successful  suitor 
for  Lucy's  hand,  now  closely  mewed  within  the 
prison  walls  of  Boston's  strongest  jail. 

Could  any  man's  love  be  greater  than  the  love 
of  him  who  sent  that  letter? 


327 


XX 

THE  court  room  was  crowded,  not  only 
by  the  casual  visitors  to  such  places, 
who  are  ever  in  search  of  satisfaction  to 
their  morbid  curiosity,  but  also  by  the  most  fash 
ionable  of  Boston's  elite  society. 

The  preliminary  examination  in  the  case  of  the 
Commonwealth  vs.  Walter  Burton  was  on  the 
docket  for  hearing  that  day. 

Nearly  a  month  had  elapsed  since  the  arrest; 
all  that  an  unlimited  amount  of  money  could  ac 
complish  had  been  done  to  ameliorate  the  terrible 
position  of  the  prisoner.  More  than  a  million 
dollars  was  offered  in  bail  for  the  accused,  and 
it  was  hoped  that  by  a  preliminary  examination 
such  a  strong  probability  of  the  establishment  of 
an  alibi  could  be  presented,  that  the  Court  would 
make  an  order  permitting  the  acceptance  of  bail 
for  the  appearance  of  the  accused  after  the  re 
port  of  the  Grand  Jury. 

328 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Neither  old  John  Dunlap  nor  Burton's  wife 
was  present.  Jack  had  insisted  that  they  must 
not  be  in  the  court-room  When  he  was  called  upon 
to  give  his  evidence. 

Lieutenant  Thomas  Maxon,  bronzed,  stalwart, 
and  serious,  sat  beside  his  friend  Jack  Dunlap 
among  the  witnesses  for  the  defense. 

With  a  face  of  ghastly  white,  Jack  Dunlap,  his 
arm  still  in  a  sling,  stared  straight  before  him, 
heedless  of  the  stir  and  flutter  around  him  while 
the  aud*ience  was  waiting  the  appearance  of  the 
judge  and  the  accused. 

There  was  a  look  of  desperate  resolve  and  defi 
ance  on  Burton's  face  as  he  entered  the  court 
room  between  two  officers  and  took  his  seat  at 
the  counsel  table  behind  the  lawyers  who  ap 
peared  for  the  defense. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  proceeded,  when  the 
case  was  called,  to  present  the  case  for  the  Com 
monwealth  with  the  coldness  and  emotionless 
precision  that  marks  the  movements  of  an  expert 
surgeon  as  he  digs  and  cuts  among  the  vitals  of  a 
subject  on  the  operating  table. 

Chapman  was  much  embarrassed  and  very  ner- 

329 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


vous  on  the  witness  stand1;  his  testimony  was 
fairly  dragged  from  his  livid,  unwilling  lips;  he 
interjected  every  doubt  and  possible  suspicion 
that  might  weigh  against  his  evidence  and  weak 
en  the  case  of  the  Commonwealth.  When  he  left 
the  stand  he  staggered  like  one  intoxicated  as 
he  walked  back  to  his  seat  among  the  witnesses. 

When  the  case  of  the  people  was  closed,  the 
leading  counsel  for  the  defense,  one  most  learned 
in  the  law,  arose  and,  making  a  few  well-chosen 
introductory  remarks,  turned  to  a  bailiff  and  said, 

'''Call  Captain  John  Dunlap." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Jack  Dunlap  seem 
ed  afraid  to  look  men  in  the  eyes.  Neither  glanc 
ing  right  nor  left,  he  strode  with  a  determined 
air  to  the  witness  stand  and  took  his  seat.  His 
face  wore  the  hue  of  death.  Hi?  jaws  were  so 
clamped  together  that  they  seemed  to  crush  his 
teeth  between  them. 

They  asked  his  name,  age  and  occupation  and 
then  his  whereabout  on  the  night  of  the  crime 
for  which  the  prisoner  stood  accused. 

The  witness  made  answer  briefly  to  each  of 
these  questions  without  removing  his  gaze  from 

330 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


the  wall  above  the  heads  of  the  audience,  and 
seemed  collecting  himself  for  an  ordeal  yet  to 
come. 

"Who  was  with  you  on  board  your  ship,  the 
'Adams,'  that  night?"  was  the  next  question  of 
the  lawyer  for  the  defense. 

"Stop!  Do  not  answer,  Jack!"  came  in  clear, 
commanding  tones  from  the  mouth  of  the  pris 
oner  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  lawyers  about 
him  tried  to  pull  him  down  into  his  chair,  but  he 
struggled  and  shook  himself  free  and  stood  where 
all  could  see  him. 

Burton  looked  around  him  defiantly  at  the  as 
sembled  crowd  in  the  court-room,  holding  up  his 
hand  with  palm  turned  toward  Jack,  in  protest 
against  his  giving  answer  to  the  last  question. 
Then,  throwing  back  his  head,  he  said  in  a  loud 
and  steady  voice, 

"I  must  and  do  protest  against  this  further 
sacrifice  in  my  'behalf  on  the  part  of  that  noble, 
generous,  grand  man  on  the  stand.  Already  he  has 
far  exceeded  the  belief  of  the  most  credulous  in 
sacrificing  himself  for  those  whom  he  loves.  That 
I  may  prevent  this  last  and  grandest  offering,  the 

331 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


honor  of  that  brave  man,  I  tell  you  all  that  I  am 
guilty  of  the  crime  as  charged,  and  further,  I 
hurl  into  your  teeth  the  fact  that  by  your  accursed 
affectation  of  social  equality  between  the  White 
and  Negro  races,  which  can  never  exist,  you  are 
responsible  in  part  for  my  crime,  and  you  are 
wholly  answerable  for  much  agony  to  the  most 
innocent  and  blameless  of  mortals  on  earth. 
Your  canting,  maudlin,  sentimental  cry  of  social 
intercourse  between  the  races  has  caused  wrong, 
suffering,  sorrow,  crime,  and  now  causes  my 
death." 

As  Burton  ceased  speaking  he  swiftly  threw  a 
powder  between  his  lips  and  quickly  swallowed  it. 

The  audience,  judge,  lawyers,  bailiffs,  all  sat 
still,  chained  in  a  trance  of  astonishment  as  the 
accused  man  uttered  this  unexpected  phillipic 
against  a  sometime  tradition  of  New  England, 
and  likewise  pronounced  his  guilt  by  this  open 
and  voluntary  confession. 

None  seemed'  to  realize  that  the  prisoner's 
speech  was  also  his  valedictory  to  life,  until  they 
saw  him  reel,  and,  ere  the  nearest  man  could  reach 
him,  fall,  face  downward,  upon  the  court-room 
floor,  dead. 

332 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


Like  the  last  ray  of  the  setting  sun,  Burton's 
expiring  speech  and  deed  had  been  the  parting 
gleam  of  the  nobility  begotten  by  the  blood  of  the 
superior  race  within  his  veins,  and  reflected  on 
the  bright  surface  of  the  civilization  and  culture 
of  the  white  race.  The  predominance  of  animal 
ism  in  the  negro  nature  precludes  the  possibility 
of  suicide  in  even  the  extremest  cases  of  con 
scious  debasement.  Suicide  is  almost  unknown 

among  the  negro  race. 

******* 

"Chapman  found  dead  at  his  desk  in  the  of 
fice  !  My  God !  What  more  must  I  bear  in  my 
old  age!  Oh!  God,  have  mercy  upon  an  old 
man!" 

Poor  old  John  Dunlap  fell  upon  Jack's  shoul- 
<ier  and  wept  from  very  weakness  and  misery, 
and  so  the  sailor  supported  and  held  him  until  the 
paroxysm  of  wretchedness  had  passed;  then  he 
gently  led  the  broken  old  gentleman  to  the  easiest 
chair  in  the  parlor  of  the  Dunlap  house  and 
begged  him  to  sit  down  and  compose  his  over 
wrought  feelings. 

"You  say,  Jack,  that  the  porter  found  him 

333 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


seated  at  his  desk  this  morning;  that  he  thought 
he  was  sleeping,  as  my  faithful  employee's  head 
rested  on  his  arms,  and  that  it  was  only  when  he 
touched  him  and  noticed  how  cold  he  was  that  he 
realized  that  Chapman  was  dead.  My  God! 
How  awful !"  groaned  the  distressed  speaker. 

"Yes,  sir,  and  wnen  the  head  clerks  of  the  dif 
ferent  departments  arrived  and  raised  him  they 
saw  lying  on  his  desk  before  him  ready  for  pub 
lication  the  notice  of  the  closing  of  the  business 
career  of  the  house  of  J.  Dunlap,  and  they  took 
from  the  dead  man's  stiffened  fingers  the  long 
record  of  the  firm  to  which  he  clung  even  in 
death." 

"I  saw  the  poor  fellow's  face  grow  pale  and 
his  features  twitch  as  if  in  pain  when  I  told  him 
that  the  career  of  our  house  was  ended.  I  urged 
him  to  rest  here  until  he  was  better,  but  he  only 
shook  his  head  and  hurried  from  my  presence." 

Mr.  Dunlap  spoke  sadly  and  after  a  pause  of 
several  minutes,  during  which  an  expression  of 
deepest  melancholy  settled  over  his  countenance, 
he  continued  sorrowfully, 

"Poor  David  Chapman,  good  and  faithful  ser- 

334 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


vant!  He  loved  the  old  house  of  'J-  Dunlap' 
with  all  of  his  soul,  and  when  he  knew  that  the 
end  had  come,  it  broke  that  intense  heart  of  his." 

"Why  did  you  determine,  sir,  to  take  the  old 
sign  down,  and  close  those  doors  that  for  two 
hundred  years  have  stood  open  every  day  except 
holidays?"  asked  Jack,  full  of  sympathy  for 
the  grief-stricken  kinsman  'beside  him. 

"I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  my  loved  boyhood's 
home,  dear  old  Boston,  at  present.  It  has  been 
the  scene  of  so  much  agony  and  horror  for  me 
within  the  past  year  that  I  must,  for  my  own 
sake,  get  away  from  the  agonizing  associations 
all  about  me  here.  Lucy  absolutely  must  be  taken 
away  now  that  her  mind  is  restored  to  its  normal 
condition,  or  she  will  surely  go  mad  from  weep 
ing  and  grieving.  As  soon  as  she  is  able  to  travel 
we  shall  go  to  Europe  to  be  absent  months, — 
years.  I  am  an  old  man,  maybe  I  shall  never  see 
Boston  again."  The  old  man  stopped  to  choke 
back  a  sob  and  then  said, 

"It  is  hard,  very  hard,  on  me  that  I  should  be 
obliged  to  close  the  house  my  'brother  James  loved 
so  well,  and  that  has  been  a  glory  to  the  Dunlap 

335 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


name  for  two  centuries.  It  may  break  my  heart, 
too,  lad." 

The  white  head  sunk  on  the  heaving  chest  and 
an  audible  sob  now  shook  the  bended  frame. 
Jack  watched  his  good  godfather  with  manly 
tears  filling  his  honest  eyes.  Then,  laying  his 
hand  softly  on  the  old  man's  arm,  he  said, 

"Cousin  John,  would  you  feel  less  wretched  if 
I  promised  to  leave  the  sea,  and  do  my  best  to 
keep  the  old  sign,  'J.  Dunlap,'  in  its  place  in  the 
crooked  street  where  it  has  hunsf  for  two  hun 
dred  years?" 

John  Dunlap  raised  his  head  almost  as  soon  as 
his  namesake  began  to  speak,  and  when  Jack  had 
finished  he  had  him  around  the  neck  and  was 
hugging  the  sturdy  sailor,  crying  all  the  time, 

"God  bless  you,  boy!  Will  you  do  that  for 
your  old  kinsman?  Will  you,  lad?"  And  then 
wringing  Jack's  hand  he  cried, 

"A  young  J.  Dunlap  succeeds  the  old ;  all  the 
ships,  trade  and  the  capital  remain  as  before! 
You  and  Lucy  are  sole  heirs  to  everything !  The 
chief  clerks  will  shout  for  joy  to  know  that  the 
house  still  goes  on ;  they  will  help  you  faithfully 

336 


l3fUCY  I  have  always  loved  you." 


Page  340 


BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


for  love  of  my  brother  James  and  me.  And  oh ! 
Jack,  when  I  am  far  away  it  will  make  my  heart 
beat  easier  to  know  that  the  Dtmlap  red  ball 
barred  with  black  still  floats  upon  the  ocean,  and 
that  the  old  sign  is  still  here;  that  I  was  not  the 
one  of  my  long  line  to  take  it  from  its  place." 


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BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


EPILOGUE. 

Five  times  'has  Boston  Common,  old,  honored 
in  history's  story,  slept  beneath  ifs  snowy  coun 
terpane,  all  damaskeened  by  winter  sunbeam's 

glory- 

Five  times  have  brooks  in  Yankee  vales  burst 
icy  chains  to  flee,  with  gladsome  shouts  of  merri 
ment,  on  joyous  journey  to  the  sea. 

Five  times  have  Massachusetts  hills  and  dales 
been  garbed  in  cloak  of  emerald,  embroidered 
wide  in  gay  designs  of  daffodils  and  daisies  since 
the  grand  old  Commonwealth  was  shocked  by 
the  commission  of  a  horrid  crime  by  one  called 
Burton. 

An  old  sign  still  swings  before  an  even  older 
building,  in  one  of  Boston's  most  crooked  streets. 
"J.  Dunlap,  Shipping  and  Banking,"  is  what 
the  passersby  may  read  on  the  old  sign. 

Sometimes  an  old  man  is  seen  to  enter  the 
building  above  the  door  of  which  is  suspended 
this  sign ;  he  is  much  bent  and  wnite  of  hair,  but 

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BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


sturdy  still,  despite  some  four-score  years.  All 
men  of  Boston  accord  great  respect  to  this  hand 
some  old  gentleman. 

The  man  who  is  head  and  manager  of  all  the 
business  done  within  the  old  building  where  that 
s|pn  is  seen,  has  the  tanned  and  rugged  look  of 
one  who  had  long  gazed  upon  the  bright  surface 
of  the  sea.  While  he  is  only  seen  in  landsmen's 
dress,  it  seems  that  clothing  of  a  nautical  cut 
would  best  befit  his  stalwart  figure. 

This  head  man  at  J.  Dunlap's  office  is  cavalier- 
in-chief  to  three  old  ladies,  with  whom  he  often 
is  seen  driving  in  Boston's  beautiful  suburbs; 
one  of  these  white-haired  old  dames  he  addresses 
as  "Mother,"  another  as  "Mrs.  Church,"  and  the 
most  withered  one  of  the  three  he  calls  "Miss 
Arabella." 

He  has  been  seen,  too,  with  a  sweet,  sad,  yet 
very  lovely  young  woman  in  whose  glorious 
crown  of  gold-brown  hair  silver  silken  threads 
run  in  and  out. 

A  big,  jovial  naval  man  periodically  drives  tip 
before  the  old  sign  and  shouting  out,  "Jack,  come 
here  and  see  the  latest !"  exhibits  a  baby  to  the 

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BLOOD  WILL  TELL 


sailor-looking  manager.  The  last  time  he  roared 
in  greatest  glee,  "It's  a  girl,  named  Bessie,  for 
her  mother." 

Kind  harvest  moon,  send  forth  your  tenderest 
glances,  that  fall  betwixt  the  tall  elm's  branches 
on  that  sad,  sweet  face  that  lies  so  restfully 
against  a  sailor's  loyal  bosom. 

"Lucy,  I  have  always  loved  you !"  Jack  Dun- 
lap  kissed  his  "Little  Princess"  and  put  his  strong 
arms  around  her. 

Everlasting  time,  catch  up  those  words,  and 
bear  them  on  forever,  as  motto  of  most  faithful 
lover. 

An  old  man,  standing  at  a  window  in  the  Dun- 
lap  mansion,  watched  the  man  and  woman  in  the 
moonlight  between  the  elm  trees,  and  what  he 
witnessed  seemed  to  bring  a  great  joy  to  his  good, 
kind  heart,  for  he  reverently  raised  his  eyes  to 
heaven  and  said, 

"iMy  God,  I  thank  Thee!" 


340 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REC'O  LD-JJRI 

MAR101 


MAN 


OCT  PI  1990 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Illl  HIM  Hill  111 


A  A      000034968    8 


L  006  013  357  6 


